


Hardwired

by jinlin5



Series: Husbands and Shit [5]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Birthday Party, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Domestic Mickey Milkovich, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Kid Yevgeny Milkovich, M/M, Married Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Mickey Milkovich & Svetlana Milkovich Friendship, Mickey Milkovich & Yevgeny Milkovich-Centric, Mild Smut, Parents Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 10, Protective Svetlana Milkovich, only because it's mickey and ian don't worry it's not graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:01:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26083864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinlin5/pseuds/jinlin5
Summary: Ian blows out a loud breath and taps at the bottom of the steering wheel with his long fingers. “I guess the reason I ask if you’ve been thinking about Svet is because… well, I’ve been thinking about Svet. I mean, not just Svet… mostly Yevgeny.”Mickey’s mouth goes dry, even though he suspected that this is where the conversation was headed. It is uncomfortable to hear a name he had not said out loud for several years. Especially that name. Mickey doesn’t say anything. He’s not sure what to say._____________When an unexpected conversation and some demons get dredged up, Mickey makes a difficult decision in order to gain control over his traumatic past.
Relationships: Debbie Gallagher/Sandy Milkovich, Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Lip Gallagher & Tami Tamietti
Series: Husbands and Shit [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1713814
Comments: 79
Kudos: 243





	1. Paler Than Usual

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my version of how Yevgeny and Svetlana re-enter Mickey and Ian’s orbit! I tried to handle this topic as sensitively as possible, keeping in mind that this most likely wouldn’t work out canon-wise! This is part of my extended post-season 10 AU, my brain-child if you will! Later entries in the series will involve Yev, so I wanted to tackle the story of how he’s brought back into Mickey’s life.
> 
> A million thanks once again to my beautiful beta Iqra (camnoelgallavich) for being patient with my run on sentences and liberal use of commas ;)
> 
> Title based on ‘Hardwired‘ by Metallica... for reasons.
> 
> Enjoy!

Mickey very nearly has a coronary and a half when he is jarred awake by a hand- a tiny one- landing palm down on his cheek from above him, like a sticky skydiver. His eyes spring open and he goes from blissfully asleep to being ready for a fistfight in 2 milliseconds flat. It’s been a pretty long while since Mickey’s needed to be on such high alert first thing in the morning, but old habits die hard and Mickey can’t foresee that one biting the dust any time soon. 

It takes him longer than it probably should to connect the dots and realize that the hand belongs to a child and not an intruder bent on getting the jump on him while he’s vulnerable. 

_ An intruder would have bigger hands _ , is the first thing that happens to run through Mickey’s mind, which he thinks is a dumbass first thought to have, even by his standards because...  _ no shit _ .

Mickey takes a moment to breathe deeply in through his nose and out through his mouth, calming his rapid pulse, before rolling sideways, out from under the tiny hand. He manages to sit up, with only a little bit of groaning and grumbling due to his  _ everything _ aching like he had been trampled on in his sleep. 

Surveying his surroundings, it becomes very apparent to Mickey why his  _ everything _ is in such bad shape; he finds himself on a makeshift mattress composed of several old comforters and pillows piled on top of one another, sandwiched between the coffee table and the couch. Mickey glances towards said couch and realizes why he had taken the floor. Liam and Franny are both still dead to the world, one curled up on each end of the worn out couch, using the arm rests as pillows. 

Liam has all of his limbs spread out wildly, one leg hooked over the back of the couch and the other dangling to the floor. His jaw is slack and soft little snores can be heard coming from his open mouth, which makes Mickey huff out a laugh at the sight. Franny is right in front of Mickey with her face parallel to his, belly down, looking like she had thrown herself onto the couch and fell asleep instantly upon impact. It was her hand - Mickey notices- that was the driving cause of his little rise-and-shine panic attack. It looks innocent enough now though, drooping down over the side of the couch, suspended over the space Mickey’s head used to occupy. 

Mickey puts two and two together while he extricates himself from the blanket nest and recalls the events of the previous night which lead to him willingly crashing on the floor of the Gallagher living room. 

Ian had volunteered him for baby-sitting duty. 

Scratch that. Ian had volunteered  _ them  _ for babysitting duty, but the bastard had been urgently called into work, like, an hour into the evening and in the middle of dinner no less, leaving Mickey to hang out with the kids and pretend he wasn’t fucking pissed off about the situation. 

It isn’t that he was pissed off about being left alone with Liam and Franny- it certainly isn’t his first rodeo in that regard. Debbie was always dumping her kid off on them, mostly because they had turned out to be significantly cheaper daycare than paying some teen one block over to watch Franny. It irks Mickey if he thinks about it too hard, but thankfully both mini-Gallagher's are pretty easy-to-please kids. Liam is unsettlingly self-sufficient at all times, like a miniature adult, which Mickey has grown to appreciate. 

It’s just that he had been sort of looking forward to spending some time with Ian, even if it was nothing more elaborate than watching whatever mindless shit Franny wanted to put on while Liam attempts to talk them through the latest shit for brains scheme Frank had cooked up that week. But he gets it- he and Ian both have to work, they both have to sacrifice time together in order to be able to afford to eventually get their own place. Moving upward and onward. That seems to be the theme of their first year of being officially hitched. 

  
Debbie had wanted the night off to go gallivanting around with Sandy, and Mickey thought there were worse ways to spend an evening, even if Ian couldn’t be there. And so after the kids had passed out with the TV blaring, Mickey thought it best to drag the spare blankets and pillows out from the cubby underneath the stairs and make himself a bed on the floor. He could have gone up to bed, but it seemed kind of pointless; Ian wouldn’t be home until the wee hours of the morning, and the bed felt too fucking big without him. 

Mickey runs a hand through his hair, which he decides feels disgusting thanks to the summer-time sleep sweats. He recalls that Ian may have been with him at one point during the night after returning home. He thinks he remembers Ian’s weight settling next to him on the floor, and a long arm wrapping around his middle. Either way, Mickey is alone now, with no Ian in sight. 

He looks down to where Ian must have laid beside him and arches his neck when he sees an unexpected shape poking out around the other side of the coffee table. Although partially obscured from his view, Mickey can see what he assumes are Frank's filthy boots. The deadbeat appears to be sprawled on the floor, a quarter full bottle of cheap scotch laying beside one of his outstretched palms. Mickey sneers at the sight, and he wonders how the fuck Frank always managed to weasel his drunk-ass back into the house during the night despite the extra locks that Debbie had installed on every door in the house.

Speaking of Debbie, the sudden sound of her scratchy off key singing erupts from the kitchen and pulls Mickey’s focus away from Frank's boozed up corpse. Seconds later she appears in the entranceway between the rooms in her favorite stained robe and bunny slippers, holding a steaming cup of coffee tightly in her hands. She grins upon seeing that Mickey is conscious and sitting up. Her eyes flit between the sleeping kids and her brother in law, before settling back on Mickey, completely ignoring Frank in a practised sort of way. “Looks like you had a good night,” She extends her cup towards him. “Coffee? S’ gonna be a long day.” 

Mickey scrubs a hand roughly over his face, noticing the stubble forming on his jawline, and nods, picking himself up from the ground slowly but surely. “The fuck he get in here?” He questions upon joining Debbie in the kitchen, motioning vaguely to Frank. Mickey smells baked goods, in the oven, and the already cluttered counters are teeming with flour and sugar and assorted tubs of icing.

“Who the hell knows,” Debbie shrugs, her back to Mickey as she pours a hot stream of coffee from the pot and into a chipped mug. She hands the mug to Mickey, and he immediately slurps up some of the liquid, barely noticing how scalding it is. “He was passed out on the floor when Sandy and I got back. Someone probably left one of the upstairs windows open or something. Carl’s dumbass always forgets to close it.”

Mickey almost snorts out his coffee at the mental image of the nearly sixty year old booze-hound scaling the side of the fucking house and tumbling through a window with the bottle of scotch tucked protectively under his chin. It would hardly surprise him. 

“Franny was good?” Debbie inquires, leaning back against the sink and bringing her own cup to her lips. 

“‘Course,” Mickey shrugs, “Me and Liam almost fuckin lost our minds after three hours of that ‘My Little Pony’ crap though. Can’t believe there are guys who get off to that shit.”

Debbie laughs. “Well thanks for taking one for the team, I guess. Sandy and I had fun.” She can’t keep the wicked smile off of her face and Mickey would rather not think about the mutual box-munching session that had no doubt taken place right over his head. 

Since Debbie had convinced Julia to have her mom to drop the charges against her about six months ago, she and Mickey’s favorite cousin had been going strong. Sure they had their bad days like anyone else, but what was a Gallagher-Milkovich relationship without a little drama. He and Ian had certainly had their fair share of that bullshit, but now here they were nearly a year into marriage and defying the odds, as usual. 

Mickey sniffs the air, no longer able to ignore the sweet smell wafting from the oven. “What are you up so early baking shit for, Debs? The president coming for a visit or something?” 

Debbie sets the coffee down on a sliver of free counter space and checks the timer on her phone, donning some oven mitts when she sees that it’s time to pull her cupcakes out. 

“They’re for the party, jackass,” She states simply, lowering the oven door and grabbing one cupcake tray in each mitt, pulling them up onto the stovetop and kicking the oven door shut in the process. The loud bang reverberates around the kitchen and Mickey quickly peaks his head around the corner to see that the kids were unbothered by the noises, still slumbering soundly. He purposefully does not check on Frank. Because _ fuck _ Frank. 

“Party?” Mickey mumbles absently into his coffee cup. His thought process still feels thick and slow, like his brains encased in honey. He is woefully unprepared when Debbie’s oven mitts come flying at him, hitting him square in the chest which causes a bit of coffee to splash over the sides of his mug, burning his thumb in the process. 

“Mother **FUCKER** -” Mickey hisses angrily, slamming his cup down on the counter and shaking the drops of coffee off of his hand before sucking his sore thumb into his mouth to cool it down. “ _ Wha tha ‘ell wa tha for _ ?!” He swears around his thumb, swooping down to snatch the mitts from the ground and chuck them back at Debbie - hard. 

Debbie is prepared, and catches the mitts easily. “Mickey, do you ever actually listen? It’s Freddie’s first birthday! We’re having a huge fucking blow out at Lip and Tami’s! We’ve only been planning it for like the last month!” Debbie shakes her head and fans at the cupcake trays with one of the oven mitts, willing them to cool down faster so she can take her time decorating them. “I swear to god, it’s like trying to fucking herd cats around here!” 

Mickey feels a stone settle in his gut. Fuck. Right. Freddie’s birthday. He knew it had been coming up soon, but he had been willingly ignoring the approaching date for at least a week and a half. The older he gets, the more Mickey comes to terms with the fact that blocking shit out is just how he copes with things that are too overwhelming to face head on. 

It isn’t Freddie’s birthday itself that has him feeling queasy. It’s who’s going to be there that he has been trying to come to terms with - unsuccessfully, obviously. 

Ian’s absence is suddenly unbearably noticeable, and Mickey blows right past Debbie’s little rant to ask an all important question. “You seen Ian yet this morning?” Mickey puts all of his effort into asking the question as casually as possible, but Debbie’s been sharing a home with Mickey everyday for almost a full year and she’s known him since she was a preteen. 

It doesn’t take much for her to notice the little tremor in his hand as he brings the coffee cup back up to his lips, futility attempting to wet his parched lips. Or the way his eyes do that darting from side to side when he’s on edge.

“He and Carl took off like an hour ago. They went over to help Lip and Tami set all the big shit up for the party before Tami’s entire family piles into the backyard,” Debbie eyes Mickey suspiciously, and both of them ignore Frank when he stumbles around the corner. Somehow, he’s standing upright despite how sloshed he still appears to be. He’s clearly on tail end of his most recent bender- one that’s been going on for longer than anyone in the Gallagher household has cared to keep track off, except  _ maybe _ Liam, who’s far less jaded with the whole shit-show than the rest of them.

“You alright, Mick?” Debbie asks, and there is sincerity in her voice, even though she doesn’t expect a straightforward answer. She slaps harshly at Franks hand when it reaches out toward the cupcake tray, clearly intent on helping himself. 

“The fuck Deb?!” Frank slurs and teeters, fighting to keep his balance.

“Not for you, Frank!” Debbie growls, “Go somewhere else and sober up, you smell like a goddamn distillery.” 

Mickey drains the remaining coffee and side steps Frank’s wobbly ass to place the empty cup in the sink. “Sure. I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine?” Mickey reaches into the pocket of his sweats and is pleased to find a nearly empty packet of cigarettes and a lighter. He is in the process of quitting, or so he tells himself. Bumping a  _ pack-and-a-half a day _ habit to half a pack is a huge fucking accomplishment where he comes from. 

“The only person in the house that’s not fine is this miserable asshole,” Mickey gestures to Frank, who’s got his back up against the fridge to steady himself.

“I… fucking resent that n-notion… sir…” Frank slurs, still managing to sound arrogant despite the state of him. He licks his lips and watches Mickey light up his smoke. “H-hey, Mick, how’s about y-you let your father in law h-ave one a’ those babiesss-”

“Not a chance in hell!” Mickey scoffs, not happy to be reminded of his legal connections to Frank; he’s already anxious enough as it is. He ducks out of Franks slimy reach, and keeps talking to stop himself from thinking about the day ahead of him .“Wouldn’t waste a smoke on your ass if you were gonna kick the bucket and it was the only cure. And I mean that fucking sincerely, from the bottom of my heart.” He blows some smoke out into Franks disoriented face, just to punctuate his point. 

“What heart?” Frank sneers and turns to stumble away, scotch bottle dangling from his fingers. “You’re goddamn l-lucky I let you marry  _ my son _ …” Mickey hears him grumble. He has to clamp his lips tightly around the cigarette in order to stop himself from mouthing off again, perhaps reminding Frank that,  _ actually,  _ Monica got knocked up with Ian when she fucked around with a family member. Instead, Mickey settles for flipping Frank off with both hands. It had taken him a while to get the hang of it, but he had gotten pretty good at letting Frank have the last word, just to shut the bastard up.

When he turns back to Debbie, she’s still looking at him intently, trying to figure him out. “Are you sure? That everything's okay, I mean. You look a little paler than usual.” 

Mickey takes a deep drag and holds it until there’s barely any smoke left when he finally blows it out. “Yeah. I’m gonna be fuckin fine, a’right?” He shambles over to the kitchen table and stubs out the cigarette into the overflowing ashtray, before heading to the stairs. “Look I’m gonna head over to Lip’s after I take a shower, okay? I’m sure they need more hands to help set up, since they’re havin’ a goddamn three ring circus for a kid who definitely won’t remember it happened tomorrow.” It’s a lie. He doesn’t really care about helping set up, even though Freddie is his nephew and he cares about the kid in an extended family sorta way. Mickey just needs to get to Ian, so he has someone to coach him through the panic he feels swelling in his chest, in the way only Ian can. 

Debbie snorts as she uses a butter knife to pry the cupcakes out of the pans onto several plates. “Lip said the Tamietti’s are footing the bill, so if they want to give Freddie a circus, he’s getting a fucking circus,” she gives Mickey one last once over as he ascends the stairs, “Should be done icing these when you get done with your shower. Can you bring ‘em over to Tami when you go?” 

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Mickey agrees and disappears up the stairs, determined to get his morning constitutionals over and done with as quickly as possible. He picks out a nice blue t-shirt and the only unripped pair of jeans he owns to change into after the shower. His body is practically vibrating with nerves. 

If it was just a one year old’s birthday party, he would have put in only half of the effort to scrub himself down and shave, and gel his hair to the side, out of his face. But the party is just a stage for the real reason his guts are all twisted up, unbenounced to most of the other party goers. 

It’s a terrifying day for Mickey, and one that he's put off for as long as possible. Now the day is here and he’s still not entirely convinced that he’s not making a huge fucking mistake.


	2. The Good Kind of Selfish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian brings up a heavy topic that has the potential to send Mickey into a tailspin.

Arguably the most important lesson Mickey’s learned over the past ten months of his marriage is that talking shit out is  _ important _ . To any well adjusted individual in a committed relationship, this might be a no-brainer, but to a Milkovich… well, it is not an easy pill to swallow. Mickey, much like the others of his ilk, is an  action-oriented person. Up until pretty recently, he has lived by the mantra, “one busted face is worth a thousand words”. 

But things are different now. When you commit yourself to someone in front of a group of friends, family, and the local bums wandering in off the street, you start to look at your life a little differently. The ‘I’ and ‘me’ decisions become ‘us’ and ‘we’ decisions pretty damn quickly, and in lieu of suddenly developing telekinesis with your partner, you gotta get shit out into the open for it to  breathe .

There were a lot of things to discuss with Ian as it turns out; things that he had anticipated - living situations, joint finances, and other mundanities that only manage to feel exciting because he’s tackling them with Ian. Other things, Mickey did not see coming. On their wedding day, when Ian had brought up kids, Mickey had sort of laughed it off, while promising to consider the topic at some point down the road. 

However, Ian, as anyone who knows him personally can attest, is one persistent son-of-a-bitch. And although  Ian may be a closed book to most people in his life, Mickey had a way of reading him like a fucking coloring book. So when, about a month in, Ian was walking around for two weeks straight with that look on his face, and his brain clearly preoccupied, MMickey knew it was only a matter of time until the dam broke. 

Ian had been driving Debbie’s car, giving Mickey a lift to work, when it all came rushing out at once.

  
  
  


_ Several months earlier. _

“Do you… ever think about Svet?” Ian grips the steering wheel like he’s about to shake it down for cash, and his voice is low and quiet, for good reason. 

One minute, Mickey’s just minding his own business, scrolling aimlessly on his phone, tapping his foot to the horrible bass of Debbie’s blown out car speakers, and the next Ian appears to be dragging a subject out into the light of day that Mickey keeps deliberately hidden, very much on purpose. 

Mickey’s so caught off guard that he actually turns down the music, even though his favorite part of Metallica’s ‘Moth Into Flames’ is fast approaching and he  **_never_ ** turns that shit down. Ever.

“What?” He questions, once the sound is level in the car is no longer ear splitting. Ian glances at him and flashes an apologetic grimace, as if he is loath to repeat the question, which Mickey figures is wise of him. 

“I just wanted to know if you ever, ya know… think. About Svet.” Ian finally manages to spit it out, and Mickey can feel his heartbeat all over his body, which he is convinced is not healthy in the slightest. 

And Mickey doesn’t want to be, he really doesn’t, but he finds himself on the defense almost immediately.

“Ian. What sorta fuckin question is that? Right before I go to work and have to deal with a bunch of assholes doing a shitty job of shoplifting?!” 

Ian is silent as he turns the corner to enter the mall parking lot, charmingly flipping off a honking truck that’s apparently pissed at him for taking a fraction of a second too long to drop his foot on the gas as the light turns green. Mickey waits as patiently as he can for a response, but Ian’s keeping mum, waiting for Mickey to make the next move. 

“Think about her?!” Mickey eventually snaps, and folds his arms in front of him like a shield. “Why would I give that bitch free real estate in my head? Where the fuck is this coming from anyway?” 

Annoyingly, Ian takes his time backing into a parking spot by the  entrance to the mall  and he turns the car off before he answers any of Mickey’s pressing questions. 

“Ay, why’s the car off?” Mickey adds yet another question to the mounting pile. 

“Cuz we have to talk about this for a minute, and you’re not getting out of this damn car until we do.” Ian says firmly, reaching across Mickey’s chest to grasp his hand and yank it away, forcefully undoing Mickey’s folded arms. 

“Come on, man. Can’t we do this shit later? Larry’s gonna hand me my own ass if I’m late to another shift this month.” Mickey squeezes Ian’s hand pleadingly, planning on soothing him into a false sense of security and then making his getaway.

Ian squeezes right back, signalling that he is one step ahead of his devious husband. “You and I both know if I don’t get this off my chest right now,  _ later _ is never gonna happen.” 

And Mickey wants to scream because, of course, he’s right. 

“Maybe you should take a fuckin’ hint then, huh?” Mickey says flippantly, dropping Ian’s hand and making a break for the car door handle. Ian is too quick though, and the lock clicks seconds before Mickey can pull at it. “Son of a bitch…” Mickey grunts and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Alright. Say what you have to say. You have five minutes. Three and a half now actually because I started counting when you cut the engine.” 

Ian blows out a loud breath and taps at the bottom of the steering wheel with his long fingers. “I guess the reason I ask if  _ you’ve _ been thinking about Svet is because… well,  _ I’ve  _ been thinking about Svet. I mean, not just Svet… mostly Yevgeny.” 

Mickey’s mouth goes dry, even though he suspected that this is where the conversation was headed. It is uncomfortable to hear a name he had not said out loud for several years. Especially that name. Mickey doesn’t say anything. He’s not sure what to say. 

Ian’s pauses and grinds his teeth out of habit, trying to give Mickey a moment to process what he has said before pressing on. 

“We’ve been out on parole for a little over a year now. We’ve both got jobs, my meds are as stable as they have ever been, and we got  _ married _ , and… things are really good. We’re good, Mick.” Ian is smiling now, and it’s so warm and pleasant that Mickey almost forgets how much the conversation makes him want to vomit. 

“And when I think about where we are now, and compare it with where we were back when Svetlana was living with us and Yev was a newborn, I just…” Ian sighs when he sees the look of panic in Mickey’s dilated pupils. “I was so out of it, I didn’t really realize how fucked up it all was. But it might be different now, if you wanted-” 

“Wanted  _ what _ ?” Mickey interrupts, and he knows Ian’s three and a half minutes are probably almost up, but there’s no leaving now. “Wanted  _ what _ , Ian?” 

“I’ve been thinking about talking to Kev and V. Seeing if we can track Svetlana down. I just thought… you might wanna  _ know _ where your son is. Who he is. Because-  _ fuck _ Mick-he’d be six now! Six! That’s like a whole ass person, with likes and dislikes and a favorite color! Like he’s probably already in kindergarten, and has friends and shit!”

Right about now is when Mickey is feeling like a piece of actual dogshit because Ian’s got stars in his eyes as he babbles about the possibility of seeing Mickey’s estranged kid. And Ian also seems to be unintentionally overlooking the unbridled trauma that led to him having a kid in the first place. 

“I never even found out if he’s actually mine,” Mickey pipes up, effectively throwing a damp cloth on Ian’s smouldering flame of excitement. 

Ian comes back down to earth, looking utterly  _ extinguished _ . “Does that matter?” 

Mickey shoots him a look, like he’s grown a second head. 

“Sorry, fuck, that came out wrong,” Ian massages his temples and tries again, “What I mean is… before everything fell apart back then, I kinda thought you were starting to…  _ care  _ about him. And you didn’t know if he was yours then either.”

Mickey closes his eyes and feels the pressure building right behind his eye sockets, because if he’s honest with himself, he  **_has_ ** thought about it. He  **_has_ ** wondered. But in the end it was always just easier to push those thoughts away because they bring so much baggage with them- shit that Mickey just does not have the time or patience to unpack. 

“Mick, we’ve talked about kids a couple of times now. I know they weren’t, like, serious conversations, but…” Ian trails off at the end, and decides to start a new sentence instead, “I can’t stop thinking about the kid you might already have. That he’s just out there. That we could- I dunno- we could actually be in a position to actually get to know him, now that everything’s less... fucked.”

And it’s moments like these that remind Mickey of how  _ good  _ Ian is, at his core. How his intentions are just so goddamn pure that he had trouble seeing the flaws in them. Mickey wishes the whole situation could be as easy in reality as it is in Ian’s eyes. 

“Look,” Mickey somehow finds the will to speak, because he really is late for work now, and there is no end in sight for this particular conversation, “I can’t talk about this. Not right now- I don’t have the fucking energy for it. Can we just  _ please _ pick this up later?” He’s overwhelmed, and he needs Ian to fucking understand that.

“Yes, of course,” Ian nods excitedly, and he reminds Mickey of a bobble head. “I know this is gonna take more than a five minute conversation. And you obviously don’t have to agree to anything anytime soon, I just-“ Ian unlocks the car door and leans over to place a few reassuring kisses on Mickey’s cheek, “-thanks.” Ian murmurs between kisses. 

Mickey’s not sure what the fuck he’s being thanked for, but he does feel reassured; it sometimes slips his mind that Ian was  _ there _ for a lot of the shitstorm of his past, and that he doesn’t have to explain all of the things that seem impossible to put into words. 

Mickey gathers the bag containing his lunch and uniform off of the dirty floor mat, and exits the car, swinging around to the drivers side. Ian starts the car up and rolls down the window, removing the glass barrier between them. He fiddles with the volume dial, turning it up slightly to prepare for his drive home, and the screech of Metallica’s “Hardwired” rips through the otherwise peaceful parking lot. 

Ducking into the window, Mickey kisses Ian goodbye. Ian looks pensive when he pulls away  from the kiss , like it’s just dawning on him how serious it is - what he’s asking of Mickey. 

It’s Mickey’s turn to reassure him, although he doesn’t feel very fucking confident about it. “We’ll talk, okay?” Mickey flicks his eyebrows upward, and it’s his way of asking Ian to believe him. “We’ll talk.” And he kisses Ian again, because, well -  _ why not?  _ It’s his husband, for fuck’s sake. 

“Alright, I’ll pick you up later. Now go put that gay-ass uniform on and beat the shit out of some shoplifters!” 

Ian’s cackling as he pulls out of the mall parking lot, his window still down and the music blaring. All Mickey can hear are the lyrics to “Hardwired” echoing and fading the further Ian drives. 

“ _ We’re so fucked _

_ shit out of luck _

_ hard-wired  _

_ to self-destruct” _

Mickey’s having a hard time believing that it’s not the universe trying to send him a message.

  
  
  


It takes Mickey several months -  _ months  _ \- of straightening shit out in his own head before he comes to the conclusion that he wants to at least  _ try _ reintroducing himself to Yevgeny. There had been a lot of difficult conversations and heated arguments along the way, some of which stem from Ian’s constant need to remind him that he doesn’t want to force Mickey into decision he will regret, and some of which stem from Mickey reminding him to ‘ _ fuck off because I know that already, I’m not a fucking child, Ian _ ’.

In the end, Mickey concludes that the only thing that will settle his mind either way is to just go for it and try. There are a lot of pieces that need to fall into place before he can even have the opportunity to meet the kid; for one, he and Ian need to figure out how to get into contact with Svetlana. For another, Svetlana actually has to say yes to meeting with them. 

The last Mickey had seen of Svetlana’s ass, she was visiting him occasionally in prison, bringing him intel on ‘jobs’ that needed to be handled with trademark Milkovich brutality. After Ian stopped showing up with her, Mickey had actually started to  _ look forward  _ to Svetlana’s visits because it gave him a modicum of comfort that at least one person on the outside hadn’t forgotten that he existed. 

He didn’t even mind if she brought the rugrat with her, which she often did. It was always hard to look at him though, because he was constantly struck by the notion that the kid didn’t ask for this. Yev didn’t ask to be subjected to his bullshit. During that time stuck in his cell with nothing to do but  _ think _ , he had been bombarded with realizations of how truly fucked up everything had been, and still was for the most part. Yevgeny had been caught in the cross fire in the worst possible way, and there was nothing Mickey could do to fix it. Even if there was, he had no idea where to start.

So when Svetlana’s visits became sparse, and eventually ceased all together, a small part of Mickey that wasn’t losing his fucking mind actually felt kinda releaved. He chose to take it as a sign that Svet had done right by Yevgeny and gotten the fuck out of dodge. And in the moments where Mickey dropped his guard and stopped trying to convince himself that he didn’t give a shit; he told himself that Yevgeny would be far better off never knowing he existed. 

Now, over half a decade later, Mickey can hardly believe that he’s trying to insert himself back into the kids life. He wonders if it’s selfish, although Ian assures him repeatedly that it’s not. Ian’s personal theory is that it is, in fact, the  _ opposite _ of selfish, because it would be far easier for Mickey to just leave well enough alone. 

Mickey’s not so sure about the logic of Ian’s thought process, but eventually he decides that even if it is selfish, maybe he just doesn’t give a fuck. 

Maybe it’s the good kind of selfish. 

Veronica, under strict orders to keep it all on the down-low, somehow helps Ian track down the correct phone number. Mickey stares at it for a full fucking week until one morning, when the Gallagher household is suspiciously noise free, he picks up his phone and takes a deep breath through his nose. 

Mickey dials the number, and he even manages to not immediately hang up when she answers. 

Svetlana is strangely not put off in the slightest by receiving an early morning call from her ex-husband, who she hasn’t seen or spoken too in five years, which doesn’t serve to make Mickey feel any less awkward about the whole situation. They spend the first minute of the call exchanging unfeeling pleasantries until Svetlana demands to know what the call is really about. 

Mickey almost forgets everything he and Ian had spent weeks rehearsing. Ian had suggested that the least awkward way of going about reaquaniting themselves with both Svetlana and Yevgeny would be to invite them to a social gathering, and what better opportunity than Freddie’s birthday party, where there will be other kids running around to take the pressure off. Mickey isn’t thrilled about the idea of having so many people around, but in the end it scares him slightly less than being one on one. 

In the back of Mickey’s mind, he had been expecting Svetlana to decline the offer, and so when she bluntly agrees and prompts him for the details, Mickey stammers through reciting Lip’s address, and almost fails to tell her the date of the party. 

When the call ends, as abruptly as it began, Mickey feels like he’s been transported straight to the twilight zone. 

Because it’s real now, set in stone. He’s going to see the kid. The kid that only  **_might_ ** belong to him. And Mickey decides he’s going to have to drop the ‘might’ because now that he’s going through with it, it doesn’t really matter anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos make my day! :)


	3. Worth a Fuckin’ Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bouncy castle ain’t all it’s cracked up to be, and Ian does his best to distract a frazzled Mickey.

When he arrives at Lip and Tami’s front door, Mickey kicks at it with the toe of his boot to announce his presence, as his arms are occupied with three full containers of Debbie’s cupcakes. Under no certain terms, he was ordered to handle them with extreme care because Debbie had iced each cupcake with little multicolored balloons and he would be  _ crucified _ if even one of them got messed up in transit.

Mickey’s not surprised when the door swings open upon the first kick; Tami always leaves it unlocked and slightly ajar when she’s expecting people over because - for some reason Mickey can’t quite understand - she still hasn’t grasped the concept that she lives in a neighborhood where randomly leaving doors unlocked can be a recipe for disaster. 

Not bothering to stop and take his boots off, Mickey bypasses the living room, which is cluttered by a copious amount of Freddie’s toys and enters the kitchen. It somehow has twice the chaos of the Gallagher kitchen, with enough finger food to feed a small army lining the counters and party supplies piled high on the small dinning table in the corner. By some miracle, he finds just enough free space to set the containers of cupcakes down in the midst of it all. 

Tami is squatted down, head buried in the fridge as she rummages around for something near the back, and she jumps a little when Freddie gurgles loudly from his highchair, as if to alert her that they are no longer alone in the room. She whirls around and does a double take upon seeing Mickey. 

“Oh! Mickey. It’s you,” She pats her chest and turns back to the fridge, pulling out the items she was looking for - two half opened cans of diced tomatoes. Mickey glances at the stove and sees an enormous vat of chilli simmering, and it makes his stomach growl as he realizes he hasn’t had anything other than coffee to fill it yet that day. 

“That’s a real nice way to say hello to a guy,” Mickey grunts, amused by the reaction. 

“Thank Christ, I thought it was gonna be one of my sisters,” Tami sighs, making her way over to the stove, dumping both cans into the pot and stirring the thick mixture with a wooden spoon, “They do this fun thing where they show up whenever they goddamn well feel like it, instead of when I tell them too. Bitches.” 

Mickey isn’t quite sure how to respond to Tami’s complaining, so he takes the opportunity to approach the birthday boy. Freddie is babbling happily in his high chair and shoving fistfuls of what used to be a banana - and now resembles a mangled mess - into his gaping mouth. 

“Happy Birthday, Bruiser,” Mickey pats the fine blond hair that covers the baby’s head. He’s taken to calling Freddie “Bruiser” because the kid is fucking huge for a one year old; at least that’s what everyone says. Mickey doesn’t exactly have a steady point of reference  _ besides _ Freddie. He certainly is  _ healthy _ , and Mickey thinks he may have quite a few more of those baby-fat rolls than Franny did in the pictures he’s seen of her from that age. Definitely more than Yev had. Mickey stops that thought in its tracks, because if he makes himself any more nervous he’s going to shake out of his skin. 

Freddie grabs onto Mickey’s finger with a mushy hand before he can pull away and Mickey grins, even though the feeling of sticky bananas isn’t the most appealing against his skin. “Kid gets fatter every time I see him,” Mickey comments offhandedly, because it’s true. 

“Yeah well, it’s those gigantic Tamietti genes,” Tami snorts, and places the lid back on the chili to let it simmer. “He vacuums up food like we’re trying to fucking starve him or something. Pediatrician says it’s fine though, so I guess he’ll start losing the baby fat soon? I don’t really know, man, babies are weird.” 

Mickey makes a noise that could be broadly interpreted as agreement. He knows fuck all about pediatricians or how much a baby should eat. He hadn’t really been paying attention the last time he had an opportunity to learn. Mickey wiggles his finger and Freddie seems to think it’s the best thing ever because it sets him into a fit of gurgling laughter. His little fist tightens considerably and Mickey has to pry his finger out of the kid’s grasp before he loses the damn thing altogether. 

“Your man’s out in the backyard, by the way.” Tami reaches up to tighten her long blonde ponytail and leans back against her kitchen counter. “He’s helping Lip and Carl set up the bouncy castle.” 

“Bouncy castle?” Mickey scoffs, shooting his eyebrows up at Tami.

“Yeah, you heard me correctly.” 

Mickey wipes his sticky finger on his jeans and immediately tries to figure out why he’d do such a dumbass thing. “He’s turning one  _ today _ ,” Mickey flaps his arm in Freddie’s direction, “He can’t even stand up on his own and you guys got him a fuckin’  _ bouncy castle _ ? What’re you gonna do, just toss his ass in and hope for the best?”

Tami rolls her eyes up into the back of her skull, “Obviously not, Mickey. It’s for the one-million other little ankle biters that’ll be running around the backyard. They’ve gotta have something to entertain them or else we’re all gonna go nuts.”

Mickey takes her point. Tami has an extended family big enough to rival a Gallagher shindig, and almost all of them have a kid or two hanging off of them. Not to mention the random assortment of brats from the neighborhood that’ll probably wander in for some free food. It’s not like anybody will be counting heads. Mickey hasn’t really considered how many kids were actually going to be there. His mind is stuck on one kid, in particular. 

Because he doesn’t really have anything else to say, Mickey gives Freddie one last ‘happy birthday’ pat before swiveling on his heels towards the backdoor that’ll take him into the backyard. 

“Good talk Mick,” Tami’s sarcastic call follows him as he goes, “Call my baby fat, then dip, I see how it is…” 

Mickey doesn’t turn to look at her but he does raise his hand and give her the finger as lovingly as he can manage. He never could have envisioned having such a familial relationship with Tami Tamietti the first time he met her; but she’s grown on him over the last year or so. Mickey guesses it has something to do with the fact that they are both more or less permanent players in the Gallagher sideshow. 

Out of the blue, a few months back, Lip had announced that he and Tami had made the mutual decision to tie the knot. He made it very clear there was no proposal - just two adults simultaneously making what they think is the best decision for their little family. 

Mickey kind of respects the hell out of that move; no theatrics, no drama like there was for him and Ian. Not very romantic, but Mickey’s come to understand that marriage and romance are not mutually exclusive. It’s a lot of fucking  _ work _ , is what it is. But it’s worth it, if you’re doing it right. 

“Love you too, asshat.” Tami yells after him, in a way that reminds Mickey far too much of his sister. “Tell those other douchbags out there to hurry the fuck up so you guys can help me with all the other shit that needs to get done before the horde rolls up!” 

“Got it!” Mickey shouts, pushing the screen door open with his back. He likes Tami. She’s a smartass, and if there are two things Mickey can relate to, it’s a big mouth and a shitty attitude. 

Mickey can hear the hum of the air compressor as he pushes through the door. He lets it slam behind him in an attempt to make his presence known to the occupants of the backyard, but to no avail. 

Ian and Lip are crouched down near the adjacent corners of the massive castle, lifting up pieces of the thick plastic, preoccupied by the monstrosity before them. The thing looks less like a fun addition to a kid’s birthday party and more like a gigantic pile of weathered rubber, held together with spit and prayers. Mickey can see that it’s half inflated already, still slouched on the lawn, taking up a good portion of the already cramped backyard.

“Oh  _ fuck me _ \- found another hole, Ian!” Lip calls out and Ian hangs his head in apparent defeat, wordlessly grasping the roll of duct tape near his leg. He stands and shuffles over to his brother, yanking a long strip of the tape off of the roll and tearing at it with his teeth. 

Mickey notices Carl being of little help to his older siblings. He moves sluggishly along the perimeter, lazily winding a paper streamer over the top of the chain link fence that encases the yard, all the while thumbing at his phone and grinning like an idiot at the screen. Probably texting that Kelly chick, Mickey figures. He’s seen her hanging around the house more and more often lately. Carl keeps his cards close to his chest on that one, and for good reason. Mickey’s convinced an ancient Gallagher insulted a witch or some shit and got cursed to never have an uncomplicated relationship for as long as the bloodline survives. 

Mickey advances through the grass until he’s standing a few feet away from his husband, who is intensely focused on the task at hand.

“Since when does it take three dickheads to blow up a bouncy castle?” He quips, and the two men simultaneously turn to look at him as Lip slaps the duct tape angrily over the offending puncture wound in the plastic. Ian flashes some teeth at Mickey in the form of a smarmy grin, but Lip looks far less impressed. 

“Since those bastards down at the ‘Party Palace’ suckered me into renting a defective bouncy castle.” Lip growls and stands, head encased in a billow of smoke from the cigarette hanging from his mouth. Lip had tried the quitting thing too, and of course it didn’t stick.  _ It’ll kill me slower than booze _ , he’d say in defence of himself if he was ever questioned. Not that any of the rest of them had a leg to stand on. 

Ian closes the gap between them hastily, “Hi,” he mutters softly, slinging an arm around Mickey’s neck and hooking him in to press his lips to the buzzed hair at Mickey’s temples. 

“Hey,” Mickey practically whispers, because Ian has a way of bringing out an immediate softness in him. Mickey used to resent the fuck out of it, but now a days he regards it as something like Ian’s freakish gift.

Although, Mickey has to say he’s not appreciating it as much now, because he’s been trying to keep up appearances that he’s not a fucking mess on the inside, and Ian’s obviously not buying it for a second. Ian locks eyes with him and Mickey knows he’s slicing cleanly through the facade of bravado down to the roiling layer of anxiety beneath.

“You feelin’ okay?” Ian asks, eyes wide and filled with concern. He releases Mickey with one last squeeze to the shoulder. It seems like a simple enough question, but it’s fuckin’ loaded.

“Jesus Christ,” Mickey huffs indignantly and shrugs off Ian’s hand, because there’s no way he’s telling Ian how he really feels - that he has the recurrent urge to just hightail it back over to North Wallace and pretend that it isn’t happening. He can’t say that shit out loud. Not even if Ian already knows. “First your sister, now you- look, I’m fucking  _ fine _ .”

Ian steps back and raises his hands defensively. “Okay! Alright, chill your tits. Just thought I’d gauge where you’re at with… everything.” Ian gestures at nothing in particular, waving the roll of duct tape in the air as he does.

“ _ Where I’m at _ is I just need everyone to act normal or else my fuckin’ heads gonna explode.” Mickey grouses, and at that moment he notices that Lip has stopped attending to the sagging bouncy castle and is staring at him intently. For a split second, Lip has a strange look on his face, a mixture of pity and something else that’s almost  _ maybe _ pleasant-like admiration, or something. Then it’s gone, and Mickey can only make out the smug expression his brother in law usual wears. 

Outside of Ian and Mickey himself, only Lip, Kevin, and Veronica know about the father-son reunion scheduled to take place during the party. Mickey hasn’t talked to Lip about it directly, but when Ian had brought it up, he had been pretty accepting of it - to Mickey’s eternal surprise. 

Lip’s only stipulation was that his son’s first birthday party not be turned into the set of fucking  _ Maury Povich  _ \- no screaming, slapping, or punching allowed, largely due to the presence of impressionable youth. Once Ian had reassured him that Svetlana and Mickey were keeping things as civil as possible, Lip seemed to be fine with it. 

“You got something you wanna say  _ Phillip _ ?” Mickey asks provocatively.

“Nah man,” Lip shakes his head with an unconvincing innocence, and crushes the butt of the cigarette out beneath his boot before crouching to inspect for more holes in the plastic. “Just tryin’ to get this shit set up before Tami comes out here and finds out I got scammed by a goddamn party supply store.”

He glances at Mickey again, and Mickey’s sure he must be dripping panic and adrenaline, because Lip’s mug contorts back into something sympathetic. And maybe in some parallel universe, Mickey would be more comfortable with looks of sympathy. In reality, Mickey’s never even come close to living in that universe and so the way Lip is staring at him makes frustration rile up inside of him, like an inmate rattling the prison bars, demanding to be released. 

“Dude, I know it’s my kid’s first birthday and all,” Lip wipes the sweat from his forehead before it can drip into his eyes, and addresses Ian, “but I also know today’s a pretty big deal for you guys. So if you need a minute… take it.” Lip jabs a thumb in Carl’s direction, where he has remained stationary for a while, apparently abandoning the decorating task altogether in favour of his phone. “Carl and I have a solid handle on things out here, don’t we Carl?” 

Lip says the last part a bit louder so that Carl can hear him over the air compressor, and Carl doesn’t miss a beat, flashing a thumbs up in his brother’s direction, not even bothering to look up from the screen. 

“See? All good here,” Lip chuckles and shakes his head. He seems uncharacteristically carefree, despite the deplorable state of the party supplies, which only serves to make Mickey all the more resentful. 

Just as Mickey’s mouth drops open to vent said resentment directly into Lips well-meaning face, he felt Ian’s hand- the one he had shrugged off moments earlier- innocuously sliding up to rest on the back of his neck. 

“Thanks man, I think that’s a good idea right about now.” Ian tosses the roll of duct tape, which Lip fumbles a bit before catching. He turns to give Mickey a pointed look, already turning them back in the direction of the house. “Can we go inside for a second?” 

Mickey must not have been hiding his sour expression very well, because Ian sighs and tries again. The hand that’s not clamped around the back of Mickey’s neck tugs at his arm and Ian lowers his voice even more. As if somehow that’ll stop Lip from hearing what’s happening two feet away from him, even with the air compressor churning out an electric whine beside them. “Please. Just for a minute. We should probably talk again before-“

“Fuckin’ yeah-  **_yes_ ** , okay?” Mickey stops resisting, because as usual he’s ultimately powerless in the face of his husband’s wishes. He allows Ian to lead him towards the house and Mickey can’t stop thinking about how tired he is of talking this shit over. He wants to close his eyes and open them to see Svetlana standing there with the kid so he can finally stop running through all the scenarios that always end in disaster no matter how he frames them. 

When they’re a decent way out of earshot, about to step onto the stoop of the back porch, Ian leans in to whisper low in his ear.

“I’m tired of talking,” He murmurs, hushed and sultry, and Mickey snorts at the notion because - well, Ian always seemed to be the one bringing up touchy subjects in the first place. Bringing up feelings, bringing up the past. The fact of the matter is, if it wasn’t for Ian, Mickey’s not sure he would have ever settled upon reintroducing himself to his estranged kid. Mickey can only trust that Ian’s interventions will be good for them both, in the long run.

“You? Tired of talking? Un-fuckin’-likely,” Mickey’s voice lilts teasingly. He glances at Ian once they reach the screen door, and it’s like he can feel his anxiety being chipped away by the excited tingle that flares up in him when Ian’s fingers squeeze at the back of his neck once again. “What’re you draggin’ me inside for?” 

Ian’s sports a smile that’s full of mischief, and as he reaches out for the screen door handle, he asks, “Think a blowjob would help with the nerves?” 

The vertebrae in Mickey’s neck almost pop audibly when he whips his head around towards Ian. 

“I’m sorry, what?!” Mickey spits and before Ian can repeat himself, he jerks out of Ian’s grasp so sharply that Ian’s hand is left cupping the air where Mickey once stood. 

“My guts are all messed up because I’m seeing the kid for the first time in  _ years,  _ and your bright idea is to offer me a hummer?” Mickey eyes Ian up and down, trying to determine whether or not it’s a genuine offer or a sick joke.

Ian regards Mickey with a blank stare monentaility before resuming his lopsided grin and shrugging, “Uh, yeah. Pretty much.” He says, as he wrenches open the door and holds it for Mickey to lead the way inside. “I mean, we’ve talked it to fucking death, Mick. And I  _ dare you _ to think of a more natural stress relief than busting a nut.” 

Mickey narrows his eyes at his husband, mulling it over in his mind, weighing the pros and cons, and trying to determine whether  _ morality _ is really his top priority at the moment. “You really are a fuckin’ nutcase, Gallagher,” he eventually scoffs and steps over the threshold and into the house. 

Back before Ian had gotten himself on a stable routine with his meds, Mickey would have been wary to make such a joke. Presently, Ian barks out a wry laugh that lightens weight on Mickey’s shoulders as soon as he hears it. 

“Yeah maybe, but I’m medicated for it. What’s your excuse, dickhead?” Ian gives Mickey a playful little shove around the corner and towards the staircase, circumventing the kitchen, overhearing the shrill voices of Tami and her sisters who appear to be already harping on each other about something inconsequential. 

Mickey shakes his arms out like he’s attempting to dislodge the tension from his limbs, and decides that the only way he’s going to survive the next few hours is if he let’s Ian distract him as much as possible. 

“I guess it’s worth a fuckin’ shot, man,” Mickey reaches back, latching on to Ian’s hand, and proceeds to haul his giddy husband up the stairs behind him. 

  
  


“Mick?” 

Mickey’s eyes are clamped shut and he’s got a death grip on the bathroom sink. His fingers curled under the edge of porcelain so securely he’s already lost feeling in the digits. 

Ian’s been on his knees for - actually, Mickey’s lost count of the minutes - but it feels like a long ass time. As a result, when he feels Ian pull back and hears his name being puffed out in a hot breath on his thigh, Mickey’s almost relieved. 

He doesn’t open his eyes though. Mickey’s been trying like hell to make his mind go blank since they scrambled into the tiny upstairs bathroom and locked the door behind them. He thinks that if he can just lean back, drop his jeans and let Ian go to work, maybe he’ll feel some sort of relief - as fucking strange as the whole situation is. 

But, it’s not working. Mickey knows it because it’s pretty damn hard to miss. Ian obviously knows it too, because he’s stopped really putting any effort in. Mickey can sense Ian staring up at him, eyeballs roving all over his face. Mickey keeps his eyes shut tight, because he’s positive if he opens them he’s going to see worry written all over Ian’s face, and his dick’s gonna get even softer than it already is. 

“Mickey,” Ian sighs his name again. Mickey pauses a beat and finally wills himself to pry open his eyelids, and -  _ yep-  _ there’s the look he was dreading. The one that makes him feel so damaged that he wants to ram his fist straight into the drywall, no matter how well-intentioned his husband is trying to be. 

“Can I fuckin’ help you down there?” Mickey grunts, and even he can hear the simmering frustration beneath his own words. 

Ian fiddles with the coarse hair on Mickey upper thighs, smoothing over it as tenderly as he can. “Do you wanna keep going? Or should we call it quits at this point? Cuz I’ve been cycling through just about every trick in the book for like the last 15 minutes and-“ 

Mickey cuts him off by stooping down abruptly and snatching up his boxers and jeans, yanking them harshly up his legs. “Yeah man, forget it. It’s a lost cause- too fuckin weird right now.” Mickey’s face feels hot and he’s not exactly sure why he’s so goddamn embarrassed- he just is. He doesn’t even bother buttoning his jeans, choosing instead to side step the sink and plunk himself down in the closed lid of the toilet, quickly burying his face in his hands. 

“Hey! Hey, come on, Mick…” Ian jumps up from the floor, and he’s in front of Mickey, instantly prepared to launch into damage-control mode. 

“Fuck!” Mickey curses loudly, because he’s never really found another word in any language that expresses how he feels as accurately. He’s been ruminating for months about this meeting, inching closer to the day, and now that it's in front of him and he’s living in it, the whole thing is a lot more overwhelming than he could have ever predicted. 

Mickey grinds his palms into his face and lets himself fall forward slightly, his forehead pressing into Ian’s abdomen. He’s thankful they’re alone now, because only Ian is allowed to see him mid-panic, regardless of what the rest of his in-laws think they’ve seen or heard.

Mickey groans. “I’m such a fucking pussy.”

Ian’s still and quiet above him, all except for his hand, which is cradling the back of Mickey’s head, his thumb absently combing through the gel stiffened waves. 

“Yeah? How do you figure?” Ian asks, and he sounds genuinely curious. 

Mickey focuses for a moment on the pressure of Ian’s thumb slipping over his scalp. “You’re really gonna make me go over this shit again, huh?” 

“Well,  _ ‘operation blowjob’ _ didn’t really work out, so we’re kinda running out of options here.” Ian snickers, and Mickey gets embarrassed all over again, bumping his head against Ian’s stomach in retaliation. Ian rocks backward on his heels, slightly winded from the force. 

“ _ Oof- _ Jesus! Alright, sorry! Sorry…” He steadies himself a little and tries again. “I just wanna figure out what the fuck’s going on up here,” Ian taps the top of Mickey’s head. 

Mickey blows out an extended breath between his palms and lifts his head up sluggishly, practically feeling the weight of all of his thoughts. “Honestly? I’m scared shitless…” he admits, and the confession is like popping the cork in a champagne bottle, letting everything he’s been holding back all morning rush up and out into the open. 

“What if the kid hates my guts? I mean, I couldn’t exactly blame him, could I? The whole reason I tried to keep my distance in the first place was because I don’t know shit about being a dad, ‘specially a  _ good _ one. I just figured,  _ ‘hey, if I don’t get too close to him I can’t possibly fuck him up, right _ ?’.” Once he starts talking, Mickey can’t stop himself.

As much as he and Ian had spent hours, days, months discussing the plan off and on, Mickey had never  _ once _ confessed to being  _ afraid _ . Now that it’s been said, it’s like the atmosphere in the room shifts fundamentally, changing it’s composition, and suddenly the air in Mickey’s lungs weighs slightly less like fucking lead.

And, truthfully, Mickey’s expecting Ian to try and be his usual reassuring,  _ ‘Ian-to-the-rescue’ _ self. He expects to be told not to be so hard on himself, which are words Mickey’s never heard from anyone else in his life. Ian says them frequently. 

But, when Ian doesn’t speak for longer than Mickey’s comfortable with, Mickey looks up into his face once again and sees that Ian’s lips are pressed tightly together, so that the pink has disappeared altogether. 

“Ian?” Mickey says automatically, if only to break the unusual silence. 

Ian opens his mouth and his eyes dart up and down Mickey’s frame. It’s another full beat before he says anything. 

“You were just a kid.” 

Mickey swallows thickly. “What?” He asks once he’s finally processed Ian’s words. 

Ian runs a hand through his own hair, mussing the slicked back locks until a few break free and drape themselves down over his forehead. 

“You… we were just  _ kids _ , Mick.” Ian says again, and when Mickey’s eyebrows knit together in consternation, Ian sighs deeply and elaborates. “She didn’t get knocked up by accident. You didn’t have a fucking choice.” 

Mickey’s been able to let go of a lot of the shit from his past over the years. He’s been able to put some of his worst childhood experiences to rest, and move on for the most part, without those god-awful memories bogging down his thoughts everyday. It definitely helps that Terry is locked up at Beckman once again - this time for good, if the judge’s verdict at the sentencing was any indication. 

Even still, there are some things that Mickey thinks he won’t ever be able to shake, some things that might hang on forever. And more than anything, Mickey wishes things could just be uncomplicated for a change. He thinks if things had played out just a little differently, everything wouldn’t feel so fucking impossible. 

“That’s not the kids fault,” Mickey responds, and his voice sounds tight because his throat feels like it’s closing up. He wants a cigarette more than anything else in the world right now, but he knows if he lit one up in Tami’s bathroom, she might actually commit homicide. 

“I’m not saying that. I’m just saying it’s not yours either,” Ian places both hands on Mickey’s shoulders and pushes him back unexpectedly, straightening him up so that Mickey has no choice but to focus on him, because Ian's face is the only thing filling his field of vision. “Mickey. If you don’t want to do this shit, I will call Svetlana right the fuck now and tell her not to come.” 

Mickey shakes his head. “Ian, c’mon man, you ain’t gonna-“

“I fucking  _ mean it _ , Mickey.” Ian raises his voice just enough to make Mickey believe it. They stare each other down for long enough that Mickey thinks his eyeballs might dry up in his sockets. 

Mickey finally blinks. “If I didn’t want to do this- I would have told you to piss off the minute you brought it up.” 

“Well, you kinda did.” Ian challenges. 

“It wouldn’t have even been a conversation.” Mickey insists.

He doesn’t know when it happened, but Ian’s pressing into him, wedging himself between Mickey’s legs and resting his knees against the toilet seat. Ian’s arms have slid forward so that now his elbows are resting on Mickey’s shoulders. 

“Ian. I want to fucking do this, okay? I’m gonna do this. It’s the only way-“ Mickey somehow loses his words halfway through the sentence, and Ian takes the opportunity to dip his head lower, tenderly seizing Mickey’s bottom lip between his own. 

Ian kisses him in the affectionate, familiar way Mickey has grown accustomed to. Not the fevered, passion-filled kisses of their youth which they still share from time to time, but the unshakable, unchanging kind that comforts as much as it fortifies. 

When Ian pulls away, Mickey realizes his hands are cupping Ian’s face, his thumbs framing in his jaw on either side. 

“This is the only way I’m ever gonna be able to let this shit go. Make it right.” Mickey finds the will to finish the sentence. 

Ian nods in understanding, because Mickey doesn’t need to spell it out for him, he just  _ gets it _ . 

Ian studies the edges and curves Mickey’s face and he’s absolutely certain that he’s never known a love this potent, this incomparable. And he’s about to open his mouth and somehow try to express this feeling to his husband, when there’s an unanticipated pounding on the bathroom door. 

Both men startle, and Ian backpedals, nearly tripping over the raised edge of the fuzzy bath mat and landing ass-first in the bathtub. Mickey’s hand shoots out to cling on to the front of Ian’s shirt, intercepting this untimely fate and using all of his strength to pull Ian upright. 

“Sorry to interrupt the bang-fest!” Tami’s muffled voice sounds from the other side of the bathroom door, and she sounds as bitchy and impatient as ever. “But unless you wanna have to walk through a literal puddle of piss out here, I’m gonna need you guys to wrap it up in there and get the fuck out!” 

Whatever gentleness had been cultivated between them was pretty instantly shot to hell.

“Do you fuckin’  _ mind _ , bitch?” Mickey growls, leaping up from the toilet seat and violently buttoning up his jeans. Ian watches his disgruntled husband, bemused. “Sorry that there’s nowhere else in this goddamn place to have a private conversation.” 

“Excuse me, did you push an entire human being out of your vagina? No? Didn’t think so. My bladder is still disfigured and I can’t hold it, so move your asses!” Tami shouts, and pounds her fist a few more times, making the entire old wooden door shake. 

“Tami, do you think we don’t know you had Freddie sliced out of you? He was removed. Like a tumor.” Ian chimes in, adding fuel to the fire, just for the hell of it. “Your bladder is fine.” 

“Guys, please. My entire family is crammed into my kitchen right now and one of my aunts just told me that if I started eating vegan my breast milk wouldn’t be making Freddie so fat.” Ian and Mickey share a look, because they can hear the desperation in Tami’s voice. “I just need a few minutes alone without being told what a disaster of a mother I am….” 

Ian bumps his fist against Mickey’s shoulder. “C’mon. Let’s go help them take food out into the backyard. That way we get first dibs on the good shit.” Ian wiggles his eyebrows, and Mickey thinks he might actually be feeling a little lighter, a little less like he wants to run away. 

“Now you’re talkin’” Mickey agrees, especially because he’s just now realizing that his stomach is pretty much empty. 

“A’right Tam, we’re comin’ out!” Ian announces. 

“Put your dicks away  _ before _ you open the door!” Tami retorts, and Mickey laughs aloud for the first time that day. 

And when Ian tangles their fingers together just before he opens the door, Mickey thinks maybe, just maybe, he can handle whatever comes. Because however the chips fall, whether Yevgeny is supposed to be in his life or not, Ian’s gonna be there. 

Mickey tightens his grip on Ian’s hand, and he knows he’s  _ never _ letting go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are appreciated! <3


	4. You Haven’t Changed...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Svetlana arrives, and the moment Mickey has been waiting for his here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my friends, long time no see!   
> I know it’s been two months since I updated this story, but in between school, work, and writing ‘Poolboy’, I’ve had to put it on the back burner! 
> 
> The good news is, chapter 5 is halfway done, so you hopefully won’t have as long to wait to see this story all the way through :) thank you all for your patience and I hope you enjoy this update!

“Alright, that’s gotta be the last of them,” Ian dusts the knees of his jeans off after he sets down the bundle of folded lawn chairs against the side of the house. 

“Thanks, dude,” Lip says, hefting several chairs up into his arms, “I don’t know where all these things came from, or why Tami had them all hoarded in the basement. I guess it comes in handy for situations like _this_.” Lip tilts his head towards the rest of the backyard. Ian surveys the scene and smiles, scoffing in agreement. 

The party is well underway and the backyard is much more full than Ian had anticipated. A hearty mixture of Gallagher’s and Tamietti's mill around, along with their various youngsters, who squeal and gallop this way and that, forming packs like wild dogs. 

After their conversation in the bathroom, Ian had been watching his husband carefully, keeping an eye out for any signs that Mickey’s nervousness was at its peak. Guests had already begun to trickle in by the time they made it back outside - Debbie had arrived with Liam and Franny in tow, and Kev and Veronica had brought the twins, dressed in matching overalls like two little dolls. Along with the rest of the Tamietti clan, it really was a classic blow-out of Gallagher proportions, all to celebrate Freddy’s first trip around the sun. Even Frank had wandered over briefly, no doubt attracted by the noise the group was stirring up in the neighborhood, but he slinked away just as soon as he realized there was no booze to be found. 

Now the tables were finally set up, arranged with a motley spread of food, the bouncy castle is standing upright, and somewhere nearby a radio is tuned to a kid friendly station. Tami had even tied a discount dinosaur shaped piñata to a scrawny branch of the only tree the backyard has to offer, and they’d all been having a hell of a time shooing the older kids away from it before the thing got busted open prematurely. 

Ian and Lip haul the extra lawn chairs through the grass and set them up in a semi circle, where they’re quickly overtaken by guests searching for a place to sit, their paper plates piled high with food. 

“Okay folks, we’ve officially run out of chairs, so if you’re lookin’ to sit down- the ground’s right there for your convenience.” Lip announces aloud, and he’s met with playful jeering and mock applause. 

Ian laughs along, but his eyes are wandering, searching the sea of people for one face in particular. It doesn’t take long to locate him - Mickey’s leaning against the fence in the opposite corner of the yard. He’s in the midst of a lively debate with Kevin, who appears to be gesticulating wildly, explaining something that has Mickey smirking and waving him off. 

Ian knows Mickey’s putting on a brave face, injecting himself with an extra dose of his usual bravado, but the anxiety is still there. He can easily see it in the way Mickey’s fingers fidget with a streamer Carl had lazily strung over the fence during setup. And Ian’s fucking proud of him, even though he hasn’t gone through with meeting the kid yet. Mickey has always come back around to facing his greatest fears head on sooner or later, and it looks like this instance will be no exception. For that, Ian gives his husband all the credit in the world.

“He gonna be okay?” Lip asks, peering over Ian’s shoulder. 

“Yeah,” Ian breaths out and gives his brother a shrug, “He’s gonna be fine. This whole thing’s just got him a little freaked out.”

“I fuckin’ wonder why?” Lip scoffs. “Meeting your kid again after not seeing him for years… I’d imagine prison is less terrifying.” 

Ian lets his hand wobble in the air. “Eh, they’re about the same,” He jokes, and goes back to watching Mickey, who looks almost comically exasperated with whatever Kevin is saying to him. “It’s been a long time coming, though. I’m kinda glad Svet’s being so reasonable about this - gives me hope that it won’t be a total shitshow.” 

This statement seems to get Lip’s attention. “You think there’s a chance this could turn into a shitshow?”

“Did you just crawl out from under a rock?” Ian reaches over to muss up his brother’s hair, but Lip ducks out of the way in the knick of time. “With this family there’s _always_ potential for a shit show. And you know Mickey… the minute he gets nervous his first instinct is to run his mouth. Either that or he goes fucking _mute_ on me. There’s no in between.” Ian sighs, but there’s still a fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he watches his husband. “I basically told him-”

Ian stops mid-sentence, looking on curiously as Mickey fishes his phone out of his pocket. Upon glancing at the screen, Mickey loses the self assured grin he had been sporting, and his eyes flick upward, finding Ian from across the yard. He mouths something and before Ian can react, Lip’s jabbing him in the ribs. 

“What’s he saying?” Lip inquires. 

Ian gives his brother a pointed stare. “He just got a text. She’s here.”

All parties involved agreed- it’s best if they all meet alone out in front of the house before introducing Svetlana and Yevgeny into the rest of the crowd. Svetlana doesn’t want her son’s reintroduction to his father to be interrupted by anyone, especially someone who isn’t filled in on the complicated backstory, and Ian thought that it was a sound idea. 

In any event, Mickey feels like he’s having an out of body experience when he sees the Bentley pull up to the crumbling curbside in front of Lip’s driveway. 

The back passenger’s side door opens sharply and Svetlana emerges, appearing just as severe and calculating as she had the last time Mickey had gotten a good look at her from the other side of the glass on visitation day. Her hair is curled, her lips are red, and she’s wearing a form fitting dress that has no place at a child's birthday party. She straightens the dress out, smoothing her manicured nails over the front. When she finally looks in their direction, her expression catches Mickey by surprise - her eyes are much softer than he had anticipated them to be, and she’s got the beginnings of a smile forming on her lips.

Ian gives a short wave as they approach the car, and his other hand is tracing comforting circles on Mickey’s back. Mickey jams both hands in his pockets and greets her with a silent nod, unclear on exactly what his next move should be.

Svetlana leans back into the car, and motions. “Выходи, любовь.” She intones. ( _Come out, love._ )

Mickey holds his breath as a blonde mop of hair pops into view, clutching a pale blue gift bag on his lap as he scoots towards the opening. He extends one small hand out towards his mother, and Svetlana takes it, helping him to exit the car. The little boy swings his legs down towards the sidewalk, and hesitates for a moment, kicking his sneakers in the air. 

“Торопись, Женя!” Svetlana prompts, and he finally obliges, using his mother’s arm as a crutch to lower himself to the ground. ( _Hurry up, Zhenya!_ )

“Mick. _Breathe_.” Ian hisses, close to his ear, and Mickey lets out his breath in a gust.

Svetlana wastes no time, grasping the boy’s hand and leading him away from the car. The driver leaves promptly, speeding away, as if he could not wait to hightail it out of the Southside.

Mickey can’t tear his eyes away from the boy, and the closer Svetlana brings him, the more his brain short circuits. He’s much bigger than he was when Mickey last saw him, and yet still so small, with the scrawny build of a six year old and a head that’s a little too big for his body. 

It’s only when Yevgeny notices him staring that he becomes self conscious, pulling against Svetlana’s grip and edging his way behind her leg. And that’s when it hits Mickey for the first time that the boy might be just as unsure about this meeting as he is. The thought that they are both somehow fighting the same internal battle slows Mickey’s heart rate and evens his breathing. 

“You married orange boy,” Svetlana announces abruptly, pointing to Mickey’s hand, where the wedding band is proudly displayed. 

“He sure did,” Ian responds jovially, and squeezes Mickey’s side tightly, “I bet you never saw that one coming.” 

“Please,” Svetlana snorts, resting her hand on the back of her son’s head as he peeks up at them from behind her thigh. “Many things have changed since I moved away. Many things surprise me. But _this_?” She gestures openly between the two men. “This does not surprise me. поздравления.” 

Ian recognizes the word for _‘congratulations’_ from what little Russian Svetlana had taught him. “Спасибо.” He responded with a chuckle, much to Mickey’s vexation. ( _Thanks_.)

“Alright Gorbachev, take it down a notch,” Mickey snaps at Ian, mostly because he can feel the little boy watching him, and he just needs them to all to focus on the situation at hand. 

Svetlana clicks her tongue at Mickey’s temper. “You haven’t changed either.” She quips, and Mickey can’t see how it’s anything other than a backhanded insult.

Mickey is on the verge of retaliating, when the boy tugs hard on his mother’s arm, drawing her attention to him. He cranes his neck to stare up at her, and Mickey can see that his irises are as big as quarters, and icy blue - just like his own. 

“Мама, а кто эти парни?” The boy squeaks, “Почему они смотрят на меня?” ( _Mom, who are these guys? Why are they looking at me?_ )

“Мы говорили об этом перед отъездом, помнишь?” Svetlana glances from her son to the two men in front of her. “This is your papa and his husband. Introduce yourself. English, please!” ( _We talked about this before we left, remember?)_

Yevgeny hugs his mother’s thigh tightly one last time and then bravely puffs out his chest, stepping out from behind her legs. He’s still holding onto the bulky present, and he swings it by his side as he looks up at Mickey. 

“Hi, I’m Yevy,” Yevgeny speaks, and Mickey thinks he's going to pass out because it’s all just a bit too surreal. “I’m six, and my favorite food is chicken fingers!” His little voice becomes more confident and he punctuates the end of the sentence with an excited bounce. 

Svetlana watches on in amusement. “All night, he practises this.” She comments, reaching out to smooth down her son’s wispy flyaways.

Mickey chuckles in amazement, and although he still feels the pressure rising up inside of him, he is hit by a sudden epiphany - he knows how to handle himself around children. He’s had practise with the Gallagher kids over the last year, and he’s pretty convinced that they like him well enough. He can make them smile, and laugh. He can keep them safe. Perhaps he isn’t ready to be a father just yet, but he has a feeling he could start by being a friend. 

Much to Ian’s surprise, Mickey drops down to one knee so that he is approximately eye level with Yevgeny and extends his hand. “Chicken fingers _are_ pretty great,” He nods, and tries not to feel foolish saying it. “Put ‘er there, kid.”

Yevgeny eyes the hand suspiciously for a second, but ultimately he reaches forward and clasps Mickey’s hand with his exponentially smaller one. Mickey feels the boy's tiny fingers curl around his palm- soft and delicate- and he gives a gentle shake that still manages to make Yevgeny’s entire arm and torso wiggle. 

“Call me Mickey, If you want.” Mickey seems to know the right things to say, trusting his gut. He had imagined this moment as a failure for so long, his biggest fear being that he would choke up and say nothing at all. 

“Like the mouse!” Yevgeny exclaims, making things seem so simple, the way children typically do. Mickey is fighting a grin, and he hears his husband snickering above him. He then notices that the boy seems transfixed on his hands, particularly on his knuckles. “What do your hands say?” Yevgeny asks, twisting Mickey’s hand over to look. 

Mickey wiggles his fingers and makes a fist. “Uh, this one says ‘U-UP’,” He points to his other hand, “and this one… says a pretty grown up word, actually.” He grimaces and gives Svetlana an upward glance, checking his boundaries.

“I know a lot of grown up words!” Yevgeny assures him. “Mama yells them sometimes when-”

“Все, довольно,” Svetlana commands, and Yevgeny clamps his mouth shut with a mischievous giggle. ( _That’s enough._ )

Mickey is suddenly flooded with a mixture of emotions he can’t quite name, but thankfully, Ian chooses that moment to lean down beside him and make his formal introductions.

“Hey, Yev! I’m Ian.” He explains cheerfully. “You probably don’t remember me, but I knew you way back when you were only _this_ big.” Ian mimes holding a baby in his arms and Yevgeny’s eyes grow wide.

“I was that _small_?” Yevgeny gasps, looking up to his mother for confirmation. She nods, and he stares back at Ian in amazement. 

“Yep, you were! But look at you now - you’ve gotten so big and strong - a regular tough guy.” Ian chirps, to the delight of the little boy, who puffs out his chest even more and grits his teeth. Mickey sees the kids eyebrows arch menacingly and suddenly his head is spinning, because all he sees is himself, but blond. He picks himself up from the crouch, and wills the knots in his stomach to untie themselves. 

Ian takes note of this, and wisely decides that they’ve been standing out on the sidewalk for long enough. “We’ve got lots of kids out in the backyard looking forward to getting to know you, Yev.” Ian tilts his head towards the house. “There’s food, and games, and even a bouncy castle!” 

“Bouncy castle!!” Yevgeny’s entire face lights up like a Christmas tree. 

“Yeah!” Ian laughs, “Whattaya say - are you ready to have some fun?” 

Yevgeny is nodding and bobbing up and down, full to the brim with childlike wonder. Mickey thinks he might blackout. 

“Женя, вы что-то не забываете?” Svetlana interrupts the little boy's elation, and Yevgeny pauses mid bounce, and glances down at the gift bag he’s been guarding since hoping out of the car. ( _Zhenya, are you forgetting something?_ )

“Oh! This is for the baby. Mama said he’s only one year old. That’s so much smaller than me.” Yevgeny babbles, and shoves the gift bag towards Ian. He takes it, and leans in when the boy motions for him to come closer. “It’s a dump truck.” Yevgeny whispers conspiratorially, as if no one else can hear. 

“Freddy’s gonna love it,” Ian assures him, finally standing and taking the bag up with him. “How about you and your mom come inside and we can put it with the other gifts?” 

“Okay!” Yevgeny agrees enthusiastically, and grabs onto Svetlana’s hand, yanking with all his might to hurry her up the driveway. 

When she passes by Mickey, he doesn’t know what comes over him, but he reaches out and touches her arm.

“‘Ay. Thanks… for coming.” Mickey manages to choke out the words. They aren’t enough, but he doesn’t know if anything ever will be. 

Svetlana gives him a knowing look, and he wishes like hell they had met any other way than the traumatic way they had. All the wasted time, hating one another, resenting one another, when they had both been victims of a shared injustice. 

“Thank you for invitation.” Svetlana’s eyes flit between the two men, and she gestures towards her son, who is still urging her forward. “This is good for him. This is good for _you_ , also.” 

Mickey nods, because up until that very moment, he’d been unsure if the situation _was_ good - if it would even be able to make a dent in the mistakes of the past - for _any_ of them. 

So far, it seems to be working out. 

“Go on in through the house and out back, we’re right behind you.” Ian instructs, and when Svetlana and Yevgeny have put a little distance between themselves and the men, Ian turns to give his husband a once over. 

“You’re still upright, I see.” Ian jokes smugly, only because he knows Mickey’s limit for seriousness has long since been surpassed. He curls his free hand around Mickey’s waist once more, right where it fits snugly. 

Mickey puffs out his cheeks, and lets himself watch Svetlana and her son - _his_ son, he finally allows himself to think - walking a few steps ahead.

“Almost cracked.” Mickey hisses “How the fuck do you act so _calm-_ talkin’ to him like he’s just any other kid off the street?” He turns to eye Ian skeptically. 

“I’ve dealt with my fair share of six year old's.” Ian shrugs, and Mickey waits for more of an explanation, frowning when nothing comes. 

“Thought I was gonna shit myself when he asked about my tats.” Mickey admits quietly and Ian has to chew on the inside of his cheek to stop from laughing. 

“You did great, Mick.” Ian murmurs and plants a brief peck in Mickey’s hair. 

“Ain’t over yet.” Mickey brushes off the compliment. He watches Yevgeny as the kid takes wide strides up the front porch steps ahead of his mother. “Pretty fuckin’ cool though.” He let’s slip, and when he says it, the smile on Ian’s face makes life worth living all over again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! Let me know what you think ☺️
> 
> See you soon with chapter 5!


	5. ... Maybe You Have

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey and Svetlana have a long over due conversation, and Mickey agrees to take a leap of faith (pun intended).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so i know i said that this was going to be the last chapter, but I’m thinking it’s going to be at least two more (the final chapter and tiny epilogue)! 
> 
> Thanks for bearing with me, you guys rock!

“Amy, Gemma! You remember hanging out with this handsome little guy right here, don’t you?” Veronica asks the twins, who both shake their heads  _ no _ in unison. 

Yevgeny is back to being shy, staring down at the ground and scuffing at it with his shoes. He sticks close to Svetlana’s side as the other kids start to swarm him, taking interest in the unfamiliar face. 

“He’s the one who used to bust up all your toys and play demolition derby with your dollies,” Kevin pipes up over the music, coaxing a wicked smile out of the little boy.

Svetlana remains her typical combination of calm and calculating, even in the face of the unpleasant history she shares with Veronica and Kevin. It’s an interesting thing for Mickey to observe, as he waits for Ian to return from dropping the gift off with the others piled up beside where Tami and Freddie have been lounging. 

To their credit, Kev and V appear to be taking the whole thing in stride- a massive fight has yet to break out, and Mickey is well aware they are remaining uncharacteristically gracious, as much for his sake as for the sake of the kids. Mickey appreciates a good brawl as much as any of them, but he doesn’t even want to entertain how much more uncomfortable the situation could become if the couple chose now to air out age-old grievances. 

Ian returns just in time to watch Debbie introduce Franny into the mix, and seeing as all four kids are more or less in the same age range, it doesn’t take long before they are all gibbering away to one another like madmen. 

“Tami says twenty minutes left to eat before it’s present opening time. And then after that, guess what time it is?” Ian directs the question down at his niece. 

“Bouncy! Castle!” Franny screams as she flings her arms up in the air and dances from foot to foot, causing all the kids to howl in excitement, even Yevgeny, who had officially been inducted into the existing pack after only a few minutes. 

“Lemme take the kids and feed‘ em ,” Debbie offers, and begins corralling the girls together.

“Good idea Debs,” Ian nods, and turns his attention to Yevgeny. “Are you hungry Yev? Let’s go with them. I think Tami might even have some popsicles buried somewhere in her freezer…” 

The kids cheer once more at the mention of popsicles, and Ian grins proudly as he makes prolonged eye contact with Mickey, somehow conveying an entire plan with just one look.

Mickey knows that meeting his son again is only the first part of the delicate operation- the second part requires reacquainting himself with the boy's mother. In whatever sort of relationship he’s meant to have with Yevgeny, all future interactions will be mediated by Svetlana. 

They need space to do this, and Ian plans on giving it to them. 

Yevgeny gives his mother a questioning look and she nods in approval. “Давай, веселись. Не ешь слишком много.” Svetlana says, and taps Yevgeny’s back, ushering him off with Ian ( _ Come on, have fun. Don't eat too much _ ).

Mickey smirks as the Gallagher siblings parade off with the gaggle of kids, and watches Yevgeny trustingly extend his hand to take Ian’s. Mickey rubs absently at the spot on his chest that he finds is aching, before realizing that the feeling is not entirely physical. He shifts his gaze from side to side and comes to the awkward realization that he’s now standing alone with his ex-wife and her ex-partners.

Sensing the mounting tension, Veronica pops the collar of her faux leather jacket, causing the bangles on her arms to clatter together, breaking the silence. “Come on Kev,” she says to her husband. “I wanna go ask Tami to open our gifts first- give these other fools something to live up to.” 

“Hell yeah! They’re brand new toys too, Fisher Price and everything,” Kevin brags, delivering a playful punch to Mickey’s arm, which rocks him back slightly due to the sheer size difference between them. “That’s the type of dope shit being owner of Kev Ball’s Keg Zone gets you. Disposable income, motherfuckers!” 

“Whatever man,” Mickey waves him off dismissively, “Ian and I got some good shit up our sleeves too, don’t you worry big guy.” 

Kevin walks away laughing, letting Veronica march him over to where half of Tami’s family is clustered around her, doting over the birthday boy. 

Once Mickey and Svetlana are more or less alone, Mickey gives up his hopes of saying something meaningful, and instead says the first thing that comes to mind. 

“How’d you ever deal with screwing botha them at once?” Mickey lets his brashness cover up his nerves, his age-old technique. 

Svetlana folds her arms and shrugs, “As lovers, they are tolerable. It is business where we disagree.” 

“Right,” Mickey brings his arm up, scratching at the back of his neck to stop his hands from fidgeting, “Missed a lot while I was in the joint, I guess.” 

Svetlana nods, and once it becomes clear that’s all she’s going to say on the matter, Mickey’s eyes dart around, as if something will magically appear to save him from the conversation. His gaze settles on two vacant lawn chairs set up near the piñata, which is swinging slightly in the afternoon breeze, and Mickey decides they look as good of a place as any to get the ball rolling.

Mickey thumbs in the direction of the chairs. “Do you, uh… let’s go sit, alright?” He starts towards them, and is grateful that Svetlana follows him without objection. 

“You are happy, yes?” Svetlana asks abruptly, kicking one long leg over the other once they have both sunk down into the rickety lawn chairs. 

Mickey shifts his weight around and the chair creaks under him. The entire thing has been left uncomfortably warm by the person who had been sitting there before him. “Uh…” Mickey can’t remember the last time he was asked such a question. 

“You have a good job, a husband to grow old with, a place to live. Finally,  _ freedom _ .” Svetlana says, and Mickey can’t avoid her piercing gaze. 

“What’s not to be happy about?” Mickey concedes, patting his pockets before remembering that he passed his pack of smokes off to Ian earlier for safekeeping, so he wouldn’t be tempted to rely on them to get him through the afternoon. It was a bold choice on his part, but he deeply regrets it now. 

“Why do you call me now?” Svetlana presses, and when Mickey stares at her blankly, she elaborates. “Yevgeny. You want him to be part of shiny new life now, yes?” 

When it finally connects in Mickey’s mind what Svetlana is trying to say, he is overcome by a wave of indignation that makes him sit forward in his seat. 

“Wait, hold the fuckin’ phone. What are you getting at?” Mickey grunts. “I thought we had an understanding-“ 

“No letters, no phone calls, nothing,” Svetlana continues calmly, although with an unmistakable edge to her tone, “I do everything for Yevgeny, to be sure that he will be happy, live a good life. Out of blue, now you want to know him.” She pauses and breathes in sharply. “Why?” 

“When was I supposed to get to know him, huh?” Mickey snaps. He tries to hold himself back, but the rage is instant and overwhelming, “When I was doing time for attempted manslaughter? When I was on the run from the Feds? Slummin’ it with a fucking cartel in Mexico? Hmm? Would that have been a good time to call you up and say, ‘ _ come drop the kid off, I think he should get to know his pops _ ’?” Svetlana makes a sound that Mickey quickly interprets as her attempt to brush him off, which only dumps fuel on the smouldering fire within him. 

Mickey spends a solid moment fantasizing about getting up and walking away. His eyes rove around the backyard, through the happy-go-lucky party goers, and like a beacon in the dark, he homes in on the shock of red hair weaving through the crowd.  _ Ian _ . He’s got an entire box of off-brand rocket pops tucked under his chin, and a grin on his freckled face that stretches ear to ear. Mickey’s entire being softens at the sight, and he turns back to Svetlana, having been freshly reminded of how much it took to get to this moment. For both of them. 

“Look. I wasn’t exactly living a child-friendly life before, okay?” Mickey’s voice is low and sincere, and Svetlana looks taken aback. Perhaps she had expected more yelling- things escalating until they cave in. Mickey refuses to let it happen. “I couldn’t be what the kid needed when he was born, for a lot of reasons. I figured I’d do less damage if I stayed the fuck away, and from where I’m lookin’-“ Mickey points towards the boy, who’s coiled up in a crouch, ready to jump up and snatch the popsicle that Ian is dangling just over his head, “- you did a great goddamn job without me.” 

A soft smile plays over Svetlana’s lips when she looks at Yevgeny. Mickey sees the tenderness there, the unmistakable warmth- the love that had always been there when Svetlana looked at her son. The feeling Mickey is only beginning to understand. 

“He has asked about you, you know.  _ ‘Where is my papa? Who is my papa? _ ” The facade falls suddenly, and Mickey can see how exhausted Svetlana looks, even wrapped up in her expensive dress and her salon styled hair. “Then you called. And finally, I have an answer. Yevgeny tells everyone who will listen- schoolmates, garbage men, little old lady feeding ducks in park-  _ ‘I’m meeting my Papa _ ’, he says.” 

Mickey feels guilty as hell, although he knows it’s pointless. “I’m not fucking around here,” He assures Svetlana with unwaivering conviction. “I don’t take this shit lightly. Ian and I… we talked this over for months. I didn’t wake up one day and decide I wanted to do this just for fun.” Mickey runs a hand over his face, and motions towards his husband again. “You see that ginger skyscraper over there? Maybe you only remember the time he fell off the wagon for a while, but Ian  _ always _ gave a shit about that kid. He fuckin’  _ cared _ , even when I didn’t know where to start. He still cares.” Mickey finally breaks off, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. 

Svetlana says nothing. She considers what Mickey has unloaded on her carefully, before she’s ready to respond. “Yevgeny is love of my life. No one will ever be important like he is.” She states, and Mickey nods. He understands the feeling. It’s a different kind of love, but he’s familiar with a similar type of intensity. “He is smart, creative, kind- everything a hard life destroys. Yevgeny was baby before, and remembers nothing. He is older now. He will remember what happens from now on.” 

Mickey thinks he gets Svetlana’s meaning, and as hard as it is to admit, he knows she’s right. 

“Ian wants kids. Don’t ask me why. He’s been picking up his family’s shit his whole life.” Mickey snorts, but sobers quickly. “I want that with him. For him. And I didn’t choose to start this, back when all the shit went down, but I’m damn well gonna see it through.” He looks at Svetlana, wanting to make sure she’s looking at him when he says, “I’m not saying I’m cut out to be father-of-the-fucking-year. But I want to try. And I ain’t goin’  _ anywhere _ .” 

Svetlana looks at him-  _ really _ looks at him, and Mickey feels like it’s the first real conversation they’ve ever had. She uncrosses her legs then, and sniffs, fiddling with the hem of her dress. 

“Maybe you have changed, then.” She admits, as straightforward as ever. “Time will tell.” 

Mickey opens his mouth and he’s not sure what he was planning to say, but the next thing he knows, he hears a distant call of “ _ Incoming _ !” and Carl is rushing up on him like a runaway train. 

“What the FU-“ Mickey’s arms fly up to shield his head defensively, but in the same second, Carl is crashing chest first into the piñata a few feet away from him. The crack of the impact echoes throughout the backyard, silencing the crowd. 

Mickey is on his feet like a flash, standing so fast the flimsy lawnchair topples over behind him. 

“What the hell, man?!” Mickey exclaims, but it comes out in a half chuckle when he sees Carl on his ass, dazed and confused. Above them the piñata is spinning violently, somehow still in one piece, albeit with a tiny gash in the outer shell where a few pieces of dollar store candy have spilled out onto the ground. “Christ, what is that fuckin’ thing made out of, titanium?” 

“Carl! You dumbass! What’s wrong with you?” Lip hollers from somewhere inside of the Tamietti clusterfuck surrounding Freddy. 

“Liam bet me that I wouldn’t do it,” Carl explains nonchalantly, picking himself up and rubbing the new dark grass stains on the seat of his jeans. 

Mickey glances up to see Liam approaching his brother, pulling a wad of crumpled bills out of his pocket. “I knew I’d lose,” He admits to Mickey, tossing the money in Carl’s direction, “I just thought it’d be worth it to watch.” 

Mickey thinks about the bullshit he used to dare his own brothers to do, and he has to admit- he’s amused. He reaches out and gives Carl’s shoulder a healthy shove. “Next time you run at me like that your ass is gettin’ curb stomped, alright knucklehead?” Mickey threatens. 

“Oh yeah? On what curb?” Carl challenges teasingly, using the momentum of Mickey’s push to stoop down and collect his winnings. 

“I’ll fuckin’... find one…” Mickey murmurs. He’s enjoying the banter, but he can feel Svetlana’s eyes on him, watching him like a hawk. 

“Alright, guys! Break it up!” Ian chuckles as he strolls towards them, holding two popsicles, one wrapped and the other unwrap, in each hand. Yevgeny bounds ahead of him, waving a half eaten popsicle above his head, sporting a sticky blue ring all the way around the outskirts of his mouth. 

“Nothin’ to break up. Your brother’s just trying to get his ass handed to him.” Mickey smirks, and accepts the wrapped popsicle that Ian holds out to him. Ian is once again communicating with only one look- ‘ _ how did it go?’ _ is written all over his face as he breaks off a hunk of his own popsicle into his mouth. 

Mickey splits the wrapping and pockets the garbage, giving Ian a combination nod and shrug. Ian apparently interprets this as ‘ _ everything’s fine _ ’, because a wave of relief temporarily relaxes the tension in his brow. 

“Look, mama! Look!  _ Eeeeee-an _ got me this,” Yevgeny has climbed onto his mother’s lap and is showing her the popsicle. It is rapidly disintegrating in the afternoon heat, to the point where some of the liquid is dripping down his wrist now, leaving blue and red streaks. “He told me that if you say it’s okay I can have another one before we leave!” 

Svetlana raises her eyebrows at Ian, but she is still smiling when she leans in to plant some kisses on the little boy’s rosy cheeks in answer. 

“Oh wait,” Ian digs in his pocket and tosses the contents over to Svetlana. Two square wet-nap packets land in her lap. “I tried to clean him up before we came back over but he couldn’t stand still long enough. Figured you need those.” 

“Smart man,” Svetlana nods, and Yevgeny squirms in her lap as she rips open the first packet and starts wiping at his grubby fingers. 

Mickey is yet again a bystander to the exchange and it feels odd. He lets a chunk of popsicle melt on his tongue, and thinks that maybe he should be doing more, being more interactive. Now that Yevgeny is no longer a collection of half baked memories and ideas, but a real kid, whining at his mother while she cleans him up, Mickey feels like he’s lost the plot. He’d spent so much of his time worrying about  _ meeting _ the boy, that he hadn’t taken time to consider how he was supposed to act after. Ian made it look so easy, and Mickey found it weird as fuck to admit that he was a little jealous. 

But he’d meant every word he’d said to Svetlana, and now that he knows where she stands on the whole thing, he is more determined than ever to make it work. 

Ian turns and pats Carl on the back, resting his other hand on the top of Liam’s head. “By the way guys, the  _ queen _ has spoken. It’s officially present time” 

“Dammit,” Carl sighs, holding up Liam’s crumpled bills. “If you woulda bet me something stupid like this yesterday I coulda had enough cash to buy Freddie something better than the shit I got him.” 

“ _ You _ really need to learn how to budget, dude.” Liam responds sagely, and Ian can only shake his head as his brothers head off towards the rest of the crowd. 

“Kev was talkin’ a big ass game about what he and V got the rugrat.” Mickey pipes up while Svetlana hoists herself and Yevgeny out of the lawnchair. 

“He can talk all he wants,” Ian licks the last drops of the sweetness from the popsicle stick, “I’d like to see them  _ try _ and top what we got him.” 

Mickey feels a sudden presence at his side, and when he glances down he sees Yevgeny standing close to him, looking up with a grin so large Mickey can count all his teeth. He’s still got blue smudges all over his face, and it makes Mickey’s chest tighten up and ache all over again. 

“Dunno about that, man. I heard someone got Freddie a pretty wicked dump truck… that might have us beat.” Mickey hums, off the cuff.

Yevgeny lets out a whoop and takes off like a shot, booking it over to where the other kids and their parents have begun to gather. 

“No more sugar.” Remarks Svetlana dryly as she trails after her son. 

Ian bites back laughter and nods. “Noted.” 

  
  
  


“Christ, you guys didn’t hold back, huh?” Tami marvels, bouncing Freddie on her knee as Lip sorts through the mountain of gifts surrounding the plastic chair she’s been sitting on all afternoon.

All those interested in seeing their gifts being opened have gathered around the couple by the time Mickey and Ian join the group. Svetlana has given in to Yevgeny’s request to be picked up so he can see above the adult’s heads, and he’s sitting on her hip with his head tucked into the crook of her neck. Ian comes to rest next to them, and pulls Mickey to his side, giving his husband's shoulder a comforting squeeze.

“Okay, so which one are we opening first?” Lip asks, and Tami points down to the gigantic gift bag by her feet, which has clearly been put aside for this specific moment. 

“I’ve been given special instructions to open this one,” Tami says, and winks at Veronica and Kevin, who stand proudly to the side with their twins. 

“Let’s see,” Lip lifts up the gift bag and sets it down in the clearing he’s made amongst the other presents, “It better be good, then.” He eyes the couple mischievously, as he rummages through the tissue paper overflowing from the bag. Eventually, Lip manages to extricate a box from the bag, holding it in front of him and appraising it, before hefting it over his head for the others to see. 

“It’s one of those toy trains he can ride around that has the numbers and the letters on it! Give him a jump on preschool!” Veronica explains, looking pleased with herself. Mickey squints, and he can just make out the picture on the box. It depicts a happy looking toddler sitting on a colourful looking train that is absolutely awash in interactive buttons. He and Ian share a glance, and both men already know they’ve won the unofficial present contest. Sure, the present they picked out isn’t nearly as educational, but they both know Freddie is going to love it, almost as much as Lip will. 

“We even paid for the freakin’ warranty!” Kevin exclaims, swinging Gemma up onto his shoulders with ease. “Two whole years. So the little dude can go buck wild with it!” 

“Well thanks guys,” Lip chuckles and leans down to show Tami and Freddie the present before setting it aside. Freddie stares wide eyed at the boy on the box and lets out a shriek. 

“He’s pumped.” Tami laughs.

Kevin nods in agreement. “Of course he is!” He turns in Mickey’s direction to deliver the final blow. “Beat that!” 

Mickey rolls his eyes, but says nothing, deciding to let the gift speak for itself whenever Lip decides to open it. 

Due to the presence of Tami’s extended family, Freddie had been spoiled to high heavens with a bounty of gifts. There are more presents than Mickey thinks he’d ever gotten for every single Christmas and birthday combined. Lip moves through them at a blistering pace, thanking everyone as sincerely as he can- even appearing grateful to Aunt Oopie for the horrid beige pj set that reads “Jesus Loves Me” across the chest in bright red lettering. 

Yevgeny grins shyly when the present he and his mother picked out is opened. The chunky toy has a little blue bow pasted on the top of the cab of the dump truck, and when Lip unsheathes it from the bag, Freddie’s eyes widen and he grabs at the toy like it’s the single best thing he’s ever laid eyes on. 

Mickey doesn’t know where it comes from, but he reaches out and taps Yevgeny’s shoulder. The little boy turns his head to look in Mickey’s direction. 

“What’d I tell you?” Mickey grins. “Best toy ever.” Yevgeny’s eyes light up from the inside out at the compliment, and Mickey feels an unexpected jolt of pride. 

Finally, after a few more run-of-the-mill gifts from Tami’s co-workers at the salon, Lip pulls out a sizable red gift bag- one that Ian had picked out a few days earlier. Mickey stares at Kevin to make sure the big guy is watching. 

“Look buddy, this one’s from Uncle Ian and Uncle Mickey,” Lip speaks directly to Freddie, as if the crowd isn’t even there. 

“ _ Favorite _ uncles!” Ian interjects. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Lip snorts. “That depends on what’s inside the bag, right Freddie?” To which the baby gurgles in apparent agreement. Lip reaches into the bag and looks confused when he pulls out a fistful of crumpled newspaper. 

“Really, Mick?” Ian groans quietly, giving his husband a look of long suffering. 

“What? Do I look like the kinda joker who messes around with all that frilly tissue paper shit? I used what we had laying around. I’m fuckin’ resourceful.” Mickey grumbles defensively, not expecting to hear Svetlana snickering quietly beside him. 

“Holy  _ shit _ , what  _ is _ this?” Lip exclaims, removing the oblong box from the nest of balled up newspaper. He doesn’t even flinch when Tami kicks at his shin for swearing in front of her entire family. Mickey is more than a little satisfied when he hears Kevin gasp in mock horror, upon realizing he has undoubtedly been upstaged in the gift department. 

About a week earlier, Mickey had been strolling through the mall after his shift, waiting for Ian’s perpetually late-ass to pick him up, when he’d passed by the toy store window and noticed it. The perfect gift. Ian had been in search of something just right for his nephew’s birthday for weeks, and so far he’d been shit out of luck. Mickey knew he’d somehow stumbled upon it, and so he’d immediately whipped out his phone and sent a picture of the window display to his husband, followed by a single question mark. 

_ Buy it!!!!!!!!  _ Had been Ian’s immediate reply, and Mickey was only a little bit reluctant to shell out nearly all the cash he had on hand to the gangly teenage employee behind the counter. 

Now, witnessing the matching grins spreading across Ian and Lip’s faces- well Mickey knows he’s done something good. 

“Guys- this is wicked!” Lip seems genuinely bowled over, as he faces the present towards the rest of the group. The depiction on the from the box has another smiling toddler, this time playing with an extensive collection of slightly enlarged tools- a hammer, a drill, an assortment of wrenches, which all have homes in the accompanying toy work bench. 

“Thought it would be cool if Freddie learned how to fix things, just like his pops,” Ian says pridefully, although it’s unneeded explanation, because Lip is already more than sold on the idea. “All the tools are made out of some sorta tough foam apparently, and there are no small pieces, so he can chew on ‘em or throw ‘em around all he wants and it won’t matter!” 

“Fine! Okay!” Kevin huffs suddenly. “But does it have a two year warranty?” 

Mickey side-steps Ian and pats Kevin on the shoulder in condolence. “Warranties are for pussies.” He states matter of factly. 

“Oh  _ Jesus _ , V. We’ve been out gifted.” Kevin rubs a hand over his shaven head, and Veronica looks to the heavens for support, as if god can save her from her husband’s shenanigans. 

“Suck it up Kev. They beat us fair and square.” She admonishes. 

Lip remains ignorant of the tomfoolery happening in the audience, and he’s instead kneeling down beside his son, watching gleefully as Freddie whacks away at the large box with his tiny fists. 

“Alright, you get to be the favorite uncles.” Lip surrenders, looking between his brother and brother inlaw. “Thank you guys. Seriously.” 

Ian just continues to smile goofily, and so Mickey takes it upon himself to shrug off the thanks. “Don’t mention it,  _ Phillip _ .” He murmurs bashfully. 

After a few moments, Mickey realizes that he is once again being watched. Observed, more like it. When he turns to look, Svetlana has her gaze trained on him, and she’s wearing a puzzled expression, like she doesn’t entirely know what to make of him. Mickey gets it, sort of. If his younger self could see him now, Mickey has no doubt he would hardly recognize himself. He was a far cry from the person he used to present to the world, and although the old Milkovich edge would never leave him, Mickey knew he wasn’t the same frightened boy he had been. Svetlana was catching onto it too, it seemed. 

In an instant, a cry bubbles up from Freddie’s throat, signalling the end of the present opening session. 

“Uh oh. Nap time, ladies and gents.” Tami announces. “Thanks everyone, for spoiling my kid. If he turns into a little spawn of Satan, I’m charging you all for his therapy sessions.” She scoops the whimpering baby into her arms and picks herself up from her throne. “I think the kids have had enough time to let their food settle, so the bouncy castle is officially open for business!” And with that, Tami heads off towards the house, hushing and rocking Freddie along the way.

Every kid in attendance squeals in delight at this news, and the cacophony is hard on the ears. There are a few who immediately set out on a mad tear toward the inflatable castle, including Franny, who is practically kicking off her shoes mid run. 

Yevgeny is wriggling like a worm in his mother’s grasp, until he succeeds in getting his mother to lower him to the ground. He grabs at her hand when his feet touch down, tugging her forward. 

“Mama! Come bounce with me! Pleaseeeeee!” He giggles, but Svetlana does not budge. 

“Я не могу, Женя,” Svetlana insists, and Mickey watches the boys face fall ( _ I can’t, Zhenya _ ). 

“Why not?” He asks, disappointment evident in his tone. 

“Mama is not dressed for bouncing.” Svetlana laments, and yet the gears turn in her head at a frightening pace, and it’s not long before she glances towards the two men at her side. “There may be someone else to ask?”

Mickey’s mind fills up with hysterical images of his lanky husband bouncing off the walls of the castle, his long limbs flying chaotically in every direction. The idea becomes less comedic as soon as it dawns on him that not one, not two, but three sets of eyes are now trained on him expectantly. This includes Yevgeny, whose large pupils are burrowing into Mickey’s soul. 

“You want me to- uh, nah, I don’t think-“ Mickey stutters, looking desperately at Ian for a way out. As supportive as Ian has been during this process, Mickey knows he’s screwed when his husband simply grins back at him. He suppresses a flinch when one of Yevgeny’s small hands reaches up and latches onto Mickey’s wrist unexpectedly. 

“Please, M-Mickey?” Yevgeny works out the name, and Mickey can tell that it’s as strange for the kid to say it out loud as it is for him to hear it. “Look! It’s fun!” Mickey follows his gaze to the gigantic inflatable death trap, which is quivering and shaking as a few kids climb up inside of it. 

“I dunno,” Mickey swallows, trying to buy time, “Can that thing even… handle an adult?” 

Ian guffaws loudly, and Mickey snaps to look at him, narrowing his gaze as Ian proceeds to royally sell him out. “Come on, Mick. You’re  _ not _ that big. Probably about the size of two six year olds stacked on top of one another.” 

Before Mickey can rebut this clearly inaccurate statement, Ian turns to where Lip is still in the process of gathering up presents. “Whaddya think Lip? Think the bouncy castle is sturdy enough to handle Mickey?” 

Lip is suppressing laughter, as he clears his throat. “Sure man, why not? After all we did use almost an entire roll of duct tape on it. I’d say have at it.” Mickey grits his teeth. The bastard knows  _ exactly _ what he’s doing. 

“See, nothing to worry about,” Ian says in a measured tone, but Mickey can read the subtext.  _ Do it, Mickey. You’ll regret it if you don’t. You might even have fun.  _ “I’m gonna go help Lip cart all that shit inside anyway.” Ian locates his younger brothers. “Carl! Liam! Come help us.” 

Yevgeny is yanking on his wrist now, revving up like a race car, and Mickey looks between Svetlana and Ian one last time before he accepts defeat. 

“Alright, okay, kiddo. Let’s do this,” Mickey gulps and gives in to Yevgeny’s tugging, shambling along behind him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments let me know that you enjoyed <3 See you shortly for chapter 6 and the epilogue, which I’ll be posting at the same time!


	6. Sounds Like A Plan to Me, Kid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey takes a leap, literally and figuratively.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it loves, the final chapter!
> 
> I want to thank my best friend and beta Iqra (@camnoelgallavich) for taking the time to edit my work and loving me unconditionally no matter how many mistakes she finds <3
> 
> Enjoy!

Debbie is standing near the bouncy castle as they approach, watching Franny jump and squeal behind the mesh screen. When she sees Mickey, she can’t hold back a look of surprise. “You gettin’ in on the bouncy castle action, Mick?” She asks and Mickey shrugs. 

“Guess so,” He concedes, and Yevgeny tugs at him again to get his attention. 

“We gotta take our shoes off!” The little boy insists, slipping out of his sneakers and nearly tripping over himself in the process. 

Mickey does as he’s told and toes his boots off, thankful that he’d actually picked out a pair of matching of hole-free socks to wear to the party. He’d never used to give a shit about little things like that before Ian. It also occurs to Mickey, as he tosses his shoes in with the rest of the pile that has accumulated beside the castle, that he’s never been inside of a bouncy castle before. 

Once, when he was about eight or nine, he and his brothers had found a small trampoline thrown in a back alley two blocks away from the house, clearly abandoned because one of it’s legs had snapped. They’d dragged it home and fixed it up, spent the whole afternoon jumping and flipping on it, throwing things at it. At one point, Iggy had even jumped off a low eve of the roof, missing the trampoline entirely and thankfully only spraining his ankle in the process. 

It had been great fun, until Terry had woken up from a drunken stupor, just sober enough to remember that he had kids. Mickey can recall how fucking angry he’d been when his dad had found them playing with the trampoline and unceremoniously snapped the damn thing in half right in front of them. Terry Milkovich’s presence had always signaled the death of joy.

Mickey catches Yevgeny timidly watching the bouncy castle shake as the kids inside have the time of their lives, and decides that things are going to be different now. 

“We doin’ this or what?” Mickey asks, and smiles kindly down at the little boy. Yevgeny giggles and nodded emphatically, jittering with excitement. 

Suddenly, Franny’s little head pops out from the flap in the mesh surrounding the bouncy castle, and she flashes Mickey a toothy grin. “Hi Uncle Mickeyyyy,” she says in a sweet sing-songy tone, the one that Mickey always finds himself giving into one way or another. “Are you coming to play?”

“Sure am, kid.” Mickey confirms, and the little Gallagher looks pleased as punch to have not only her new friend, but her uncle joining in on the fun. Her head disappears back into the flap and the squealing inside continues. 

Yevgeny is first to crawl into the castle, hoisting one leg up high over the rubber lip and shoving himself forward until he breaches the flap. Mickey watches the rest of his tiny body wriggle into the opening, before taking a deep breath and following the boys lead, having significantly less trouble gaining leverage up onto the shaky surface. Once he’s on his knees, Mickey pushes himself head first into the castle, somehow finding his grip on the rubber to haul the rest of his body forward until he disappears completely. 

Inside the structure, Mickey props himself up on his elbows, to see that Yevgeny has already begun to bound over to Franny. Cautiously, he surveys the rest of the scene, and while he notices one or two kids whose faces he vaguely recognizes but whose names he doesn’t know- everything else is as expected. Franny, Amy, and Gemma have already claimed one corner of the bouncy castle, and the giggles and shrieks that are emanating from said corner are enough to set anyone’s teeth on edge. 

They look like they’re having a blast, though- the dappled sunlight peeking through the mesh illuminates their wide smiles, bouncing off of the apples of their cheeks. Yevgeny easily jumps into the fray, accidentally shoulder checking Franny and bouncing her back against the wall. She careens sideways, laughing hysterically the whole time, and Mickey thinks that maybe a responsible adult would tell them to be careful but, fuck it- they’re having fun. 

“Come on, come on!” Yevgeny beckons excitedly at Mickey, and he groans with the effort of picking himself up off of his stomach, successfully managing to drag his knees up under the rest of his body, and trying to find his balance before standing. Once he’s more or less got a handle on it, Mickey attempts to stand on wobbly legs, feeling for all the world like a newborn deer- Bambi, or some shit. 

As he stands, he’s almost taken down by one of the other kids who bounces his way over and he has to throw his arms out and hop out of the way so as not to topple over completely. Mickey nearly curses at the kid without thinking, but catches the caustic words on the tip of his tongue just in time. 

“Uncle Mick, you gotta bounce!” Franny sings out, as the twins and Yevgeny begin to chant  _ bounce, bounce, bounce  _ as they themselves are propelled a few feet into the air with each leap. 

“Alright,  _ Jesus _ !’” Mickey grunts, testing out the surface in front of him before taking his first leap. He tries to think light thoughts, hoping the occupants of the castle don’t absolutely go flying when he lands. As he makes contact with the rubber, the surface holds up surprisingly well and Mickey actually catches some pretty good air. He follows through with the momentum of this first bounce, and makes a few more smaller ones until he comes to a stop near the group. 

Mickey’s final bounce causes the rubber to bow under the kids, leaving them shrieking with laughter as they all land on the rubber surface, in various positions. Mickey hadn’t meant to do it, but the kids seem to enjoy it thoroughly, and he catches himself actually having a good time. The kids all struggle to stand, and the minute Yevgeny is upright, he’s back to bouncing and giggling. 

“Look! Look how high I can go!” The boy crows, breathless with the effort of popping up and down like a spring. Yevgeny is hyper-focused on Mickey, very obviously trying to impress him, watching for his reaction. Mickey remembers doing the same thing for Iggy and Joey- checking out of the corner of his eye to see if they were looking whenever he had done something he thought they would deem cool. 

“That’s pretty good kid!” Mickey praises, knowing it’s what he would have wanted, and sees a look of pride take over Yevgeny’s face. “Can you do this, though?” He asks, taking a few more precautionary bounces before launching into one that flips him head over heels. Mickey lands on his ass, using the force of the landing to propel him back onto his feet, sending the kids toppling over again in a giggling heap. Mickey pants heavily and steadies himself, surprised that he’s actually having fun. He had never imagined that all those years of hopping fences to narrowly escape the cops would have come in handy in such an innocent way.

“WOAH!” Yevgeny gasps, scrambling up upright. “I wanna try, I wanna try!” 

And before Mickey can warn the kid against breaking his neck, Yevgeny takes a few bounces and rockets his skinny body up into the air, twisting backwards in a little blur before their eyes. Unlike Mickey, he lands on his feet with only a little wobble, and Franny and the twins are cheering and clapping as they continue to hop up and down.

Mickey is impressed, to say the least. Yevgeny’s beams at him, awaiting his reaction. “Holy sh-.“ Mickey censors himself just in time. He’s never had a problem swearing in front of the kids before, but somehow with Yevgeny it feels like it’s just not his place. “You been practicin’ that buddy?” 

Yevgeny laughs as he hops up and down. “Mama made me go to j-jiiiiiii…” He fumbles with the word he’s looking for, but ultimately gives up, “... the class where they make you bend a lot!”

“Gymnastics?” Mickey asks, and when Yevgeny nods excitedly, he is reminded yet again that the kid in front of him, who’s dirty blond bangs flop down over his eyes every time he lands, is a  _ person -  _ just like Ian had said all those months ago when he’d first brought the topic up. Mickey bounces still as he comes to a stop, giving himself a much needed minute to let the realization wash over him once again. 

Yevgeny is a person. A little kid who's taken gymnastics. A little kid whose face lights up when you give him a popsicle. A little kid who’s fucking  _ thrilled _ to have Mickey hang out with him in a shitty rented bouncy castle, even for just an afternoon. 

Yevgeny is a person, whose already got six years under his belt, most of which Mickey has been absent for. And Mickey can’t go back, and he can’t fix shit all about the past. All he knows in that moment is that he needs to be there- wants to be there- to see what happens next, and maybe lend a hand to Svetlana while he’s at it.

Mickey knows it’s what he would have wanted as a kid, if he’d had a choice.

“Ummm...Uncle Mick?” Franny’s little voice squeaks, and only then does he realize he’s been standing there, vacantly, as the kids wait for something to happen.

“Yeah? What’s up little red?” Mickey forces himself out of his own head, and notices that all the children around him have strangely stopped bouncing.

“The floor is soft,” Gemma points out, bending her knees to show that the rubber has much more give than Mickey can remember. 

“And the roof is getting closer!” Amy chimes in, directing Mickey’s attention to the ceiling of the bouncy castle, which appears to now be sagging much lower than it had been. 

“Ah  _ fuck,”  _ Mickey groans, glancing around himself to confirm that things are indeed very wrong. “Alright kids, time to bail! This things losin’ air-  _ fast _ !”

Mickey begins to usher the kids forward, gathering them in front of them as he pushes them in a herd towards the exit, saving them from tripping over themselves several times, as the floor becomes less stable beneath them. Some of the other, older kids have already escaped, and once they arrive at the flap, Mickey can just make out Debbie through the mesh flap, reaching out to catch her daughter as Franny is the first to tumble out into the waning light of the early evening. The twins are next, hoisted down one after another onto the ground by Debbie. 

Mickey hears the ominous sounds of the roof of the castle folding in on itself behind them, buckling furth. Instinctively, he snags Yevgeny under the armpits, sliding the little boy through the exit and into the safety of the arms waiting for him on the other side. Debbie then moves back as Mickey himself crouches and pulls himself through the opening, practically gulping up the fresh air when he hits the ground. 

Svetlana is there in an instant, scooping Yevgeny up, who’s still laughing and wiggling, totally oblivious to the pile of rubber melting behind him, which is now hissing loudly as air escapes it.

“What the hell happened?” Mickey turns toward the source of Lip’s voice and finds the man standing on his rickety back porch, scratching his head and looking confused, as if the bouncy castle had not been fundamentally flawed to begin with. Ian is standing in the open doorway of the house behind his brother, also looking at the scene before him in dismay.

“Mick! What’d you do?” Ian hollers over, and Mickey balks at the accusation coming from his husband.

“What did  _ I _ \- what kinda question is that?” Mickey throws up his hands and glances around for some kind of support, before realizing that many of those who had been attending the party had already taken their leave in the short time that he’d been preoccupied. Not that he would have gotten much backup from any of them anyway. “I didn’t do  _ nothin _ ’! This deathtrap was just waitin’ to collapse. I’m surprised it lasted as long as it did!” Just to make sure he was getting his point across, Mickey swivels around and kicks at the useless heap of mostly deflated plastic. 

Lip’s look of confusion turns to one of good humor- apparently the day has been going so damn well that he’s been able to maintain his pleasant mood even in the face of major annoyances. He and Ian approach slowly, appraising the sad looking remains of the bouncy castle. “Shit. Well, at least you got all the kids out before we lost one, huh?” He jokes, and Ian snorts loudly at the morbid comment.

“Yeah well,” Mickey grunts, stepping back into his boots and not bothering to bend over and tie the laces, “Don’t give yourself whiplash rushin’ over to thank me…” 

“Mama, mama, mama!” Yevgeny pants out, still trying to catch his breath from bouncing and the rush of being hefted out of the collapsing castle. “It was soooooo fun! We jumped really really high, we did flips!” 

“This does sound like fun!” Svetlana agrees in an exaggerated and playful tone, nosing at her son’s cheek, which is burning hot with the exertion of playing.

Mickey keeps a close eye on the exchange, and only averts his gaze when Svetlana makes direct eye contact with him. He does manage to catch her small smile, however and despite only seeing a glimpse of it he can tell that she means it.

“Uncle Mickey saved us!” Franny announces to her mother, and Debbie snorts in response as she hefts the little girl up higher on her hip.

“He’s a regular superhero, isn’t he Fran?” Ian tickles his niece’s ribs as he passes her, on the way to wrap his arms around his husband. Mickey pretends to hate the attention, half-heartedly wriggling against the hug, but he still lets Ian press his lips to his forehead with little resistance. 

There had certainly been a time where Mickey would have sooner shoved a firecracker up his own ass and lit the fuse than let the whole neighborhood see him embracing Ian. But that was long before he’d said ‘I do’ and let the entirety of the southside know that he and Ian were in it for the long haul- just in case anyone had been confused up until then. 

Even now, it shocks Mickey, how easily he lets himself be loved, and how no one even seems to question it. He’s kind of glad things are so different now, because Yevgeny is looking at them, embracing so freely, and Mickey knows that going forward- this is going to be his normal. 

Mickey feels a lightness take over his body as looks at Ian, whose eyes are filled with pride that’s reserved solely for him. 

“So?” Ian prompts. “Was I right? Was it fun?” 

Mickey chuckles and shrugs. “While it lasted, yeah.” He replies. 

*

They’d all forgotten about the piñata, apparently, because half the kids have already left. They’re down to about a third of the guests when Lip instructs the remaining children to start wailing away at the thing while he and Ian figure out what the hell to do with the deflated castle.

Mickey tries to be helpful, but by the time they have the hunk of rubber more or less rolled up and tied down, he decides he needs a fucking break. Ian doesn’t have to be told- he takes one look at his husband's face and reaches into the pocket of his jeans to find the pack of cigarettes Mickey had entrusted him with earlier in the day.

Now, Mickey’s sitting in the grass, halfway through a hard earned smoke, and he’s watching the kids being blindfolded and spun around one after the other. They’re striking the piñata with various degrees of success, and Mickey thinks it’s hilarious that it’s been nearly twenty minutes of swinging, and the dizzy kids have barely made a crack in it. 

If he’s honest, Mickey’s really only focused on Yevgeny, who’s just spent the last two minutes swinging the stick in the entirely wrong direction, even with the others screaming directions at him. Once the blindfolds been taken off, the kid doesn’t seem any less pleased with himself and Mickey thinks it’s fucking amazing- how the little boy is just happy to be involved. 

As Franny get’s her second round up at bat, Mickey sees Yevgeny stumble over towards his mother, still off center from Kevin whipping him around into a frenzy. He tries not to ogle too much, crossing his eyes to watch the glowing red tip of his cigarette as he takes a deep inhale. When Mickey looks back up, Yevgeny is whispering something to Svetlana, and, what’s even more suspicious, Svetlana is gesturing in his direction and nodding. 

The next thing he knows, Yevgeny is heading his way, shuffling over to where Mickey is sitting in the grass. And for a split second, Mickey panics. He immediately attempts to locate Ian, who seems to be struggling to lift one end of the rolled up bouncy castle onto his shoulder. Ian and his brothers have been trying to figure out how the hell to get the thing out to the back of Kevin’s truck for far too long and Mickey had been thoroughly enjoying the show. But Ian’s busy, and Yevgeny is almost all the way over to him. Mickey breathes in deeply through his nose and reminds himself that Ian can’t always be there to moderate things. 

Stubbing the cigarette out on the bottom of his still untied boot, Mickey gives the boy a smile that he has to reign in a bit so it doesn’t look like he’s trying too hard. Not even a six year old would be fooled by flashing that many teeth all at once. 

“Hi,” Yevgeny greets him quietly as he takes a few more steps towards Mickey, before plopping down right in front of him, folding his legs criss-cross applesauce.

“Uh, hey,” Mickey responds as he crushes the remainder of the cigarette butt in his fist, to prevent himself from absently flicking it into the grass. Tami gets after Lip for doing just that, and Mickey’s heard it enough times to know that littering in the woman’s grass is a one way ticket to the top of her shit list. 

Mickey can see that Yevgeny is sucking on the inside of his cheeks, like he’s thinking really hard, processing something. It’s hard not to get freaked out when he makes eye contact with the boy- those massive eyes of his are wide and curious, full of something that feels so oddly familiar to Mickey that it’s fucking with his mind. 

“Are you really my dad?” Yevgeny blurts the question out, and Mickey feels like the world has stopped spinning, and not even Ian could help him with this one. His body is moving through molasses, and he leans back on one hand just to give him some sort of stability. 

And Yevgeny’s expecting an answer, he makes it clear, because he’s silent and he’s listening, prepared to hang on Mickey’s every word. Mickey can’t help but feel like the kid is much older on the inside than on the outside, and that maybe part of that is his fault. 

It’s the moment of truth. The point of no return.

“Yeah.” Mickey says, and he feels it. For the first time, he really, honestly, feels that it’s true- no matter what a DNA test might reveal. “Yeah kid. I’m your dad.” 

Yevgeny pauses, and thinks some more. “Oh.” He finally settles on the response, and it’s so far out of left field from what Mickey had been expecting and he can’t seem to reign in his puzzled expression. 

“Oh?” Repeats Mickey, and he has to remind himself that he’s still talking to a little kid. A little kid who doesn’t know him very well, and has no reason to like him- in fact, if Yevgeny hated Mickey he couldn’t exactly blame him. “What’s that mean, huh?” 

Yevgeny shrugs his little shoulders forward and yanks fistfuls of grass clean out of the earth, making piles on either side of his legs. Mickey sees a few faded scratches and the tail end of a bruise on Yevgeny’s knee, and he thinks about how Yevgeny probably got them playing and exploring the world with his friends. Not how Mickey used to get them. 

“I didn’t think I had one,” Yevgeny explains, and he says it so matter of factly that Mickey is sure he would have rather had someone stomp directly on his chest than to hear the kid say it out loud. “Does this mean we get to do stuff?”

“What kind of stuff?” Mickey chokes out.

“Fun stuff,” Yevgeny grins, “Like going to the park to feed ducks, and watching movies, and playing with my lego. That’s what my friend Danielle’s dad does! And sometimes I play too!” 

Mickey remembers wanting that too. He thinks that maybe, if he’d had even half of that growing up, things wouldn’t have been so shitty for so much of his life. And of course, it’s too late for Mickey to get those things for himself- but giving them to Yevgeny might just be the next best thing. 

“Sure,” Mickey agrees. He’s never thought of himself as someone who feeds ducks or watches age appropriate movies with a kid, but he’s done a lot of things in the last few years of his life that he’d never fucking imagined would be possible for him. “If your mom says it’s alright, we can do all that stuff. Start makin’ a list.” 

“Okay!” Yevgeny exclaims happily. He gets a little antsy then, and Mickey catches him looking over to where Ian is, balancing one end of the rolled up bouncy castle on his broad shoulder. “Mama says you and Eee-an are marrrrrieeeed.” Yevgeny rolls out the last word like he’s singing it. “Does that mean Eee-an’s my dad too?” 

Mickey could not be less prepared for the question. The words echo in his ears like gunshots. He thumbs his bottom lip and scrunches up his nose- the nervous ticks he’s had since he was a kid. Because, well, what the fuck does he say to that? What’s the right answer? Is there one? Mickey sure as hell doesn’t know. Of course he knows Ian wants to be a dad, but he also knows it’s not his place to force the title on him. Yevgeny’s eyes never leave him, tracking every minute movement. 

“Ian… Ian can be whatever you want him to be” Mickey’s mouth is moving even before he’s sure that he’d got an answer. He hopes it doesn’t sound too silly or cryptic- and he’s praying he doesn’t have to explain it any more than that. 

Yevgeny seems to get it though, because he smiles and nods, looking pleased with the answer. “Maybe we can be friends first!” Yevgeny suggests, and Mickey thinks it’s the wisest thing he’s ever heard a kid say.

“Sounds like a plan to me, kid.” Mickey sniffs, pretending his self-described cold, dead heart  _ isn’t _ fucking imploding in his chest. 

Suddenly there is a loud crack and children shrieking, and Mickey and Yevgeny both turn to see that the piñata has been destroyed. Mickey lets out an impressed chuckle when he sees Kevin hulking over the smashed husk, the stick still raised over his shoulder after apparently losing his patience waiting for the kids to do the job, and taking matters into his own hands. 

The kids have all converged on the spot where the candy has dropped, scrounging to find the colourful pieces in the grass, and Yevgeny clambers to his feet, clearly eager to jump into the fray. He takes a step towards the commotion, but Mickey is caught off guard when the little boy stops himself and turns in Mickey’s direction, as if waiting to be dismissed. 

“What’s the hold up?” Mickey shrugs, and mirrors Yevgeny’s growing smile when he says, “Go get some of the good stuff before it’s gone.”

Yevgeny does not have to be told twice, and he practically leaves skid marks as he speeds off. Mickey watches him go, and he feels so goddamn strange, and wonderful all at once. 

Of course, when Mickey eventually tears himself away from watching the kids frantically scavenge for candy, he finds Ian staring at him. Staring and smiling, Ian’s face is doing all the things it has always done when he looks at Mickey. Anyone standing within ten miles of him can feel the pride radiating from his eyes, from underneath his skin, from every pore.

Mickey thinks he could get used to it all, actually. Meeting Yevgeny was an uphill battle- hard fought, and in Mickey’s humble opinion- hard won. And now that he’s pushed himself over the first hurdle, Mickey can see himself doing it again. And again. As many times as he can until it just becomes part of his life, part of his new, mostly stable, mostly healthy life.

Yevgeny  _ deserves _ it, to have a dad who’s  _ there _ .

And Mickey’s starting to think that maybe he deserves to let himself  _ be _ one. 

[ ](https://ibb.co/6v62RG0)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! Stay tuned for the epilogue for a little treat!
> 
> Kudos and comments make my day and let me know what you think! Every time you leave one (or both hehe) a fairy gets their wings!


	7. Epilogue: It’s a Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lip gives some advice and Mickey might actually listen.

With Freddie’s first birthday going down in the record books as a resounding success, and the backyard in a total state of disrepair, all of the Gallaghers and most of the Tamietti’s stick around for the clean up. Nearly all the riff-raff have filtered out, except for a few stragglers who Tami’s trying to herd out the door- even Svetlana and Yevgeny had taken their leave. 

Yevgeny was as tuckered out as the rest of the kids by the time his mother called the car to come back around and pick them up, and so he waved a timid goodbye to Mickey and Ian from Svetlana’s hip, nestled into her side and only half awake. 

“You call again soon.” Svetlana had instructed, looking back and forth between the men until they both nodded in agreement. 

“Of course Svet,” Ian had agreed, “We’ll keep in touch.” 

Mickey had watched as his son was loaded into the back seat of the car, fast asleep, and he and Svetlana shared one final loaded glance before she climbed into the passenger's seat and the car took off once again.

Ian hadn’t said a word about  _ anything _ to Mickey, but the look on his face spoke volumes. Mickey could tell he was saving it all up, all the emotions and praise and the generally embarrassing displays of affection, waiting to unleash it on him later in the privacy of their bedroom- as was customary in their relationship.

Once they had returned to the backyard, Mickey busied himself by actually lending a hand, restoring the backyard to it’s former subpar glory. They had folded up chairs and tables and dragged a black trash bag around in the grass collecting paper plates and solo cups- still sticky with the remnants of soda and juice. Every time Mickey glanced in his husband’s direction he was met with that look- admiration, and pride, like Mickey was the best fucking thing on two legs. It was still a lot to take in, still a lot to unpack, but Mickey would have been lying if he said it didn’t feel  _ nice _ .

When Mickey had paused for a beat on the back porch, catching his breath after several trips up and down the basement steps, he wasn’t expecting Lip to slide up beside him, resting his elbows on the paint peeled wooden railing in order to light his fiftieth cigarette of the day. 

“Not bad for a first birthday party, huh?” Lip begins, the cigarette bobbing between his lips. Mickey manages to restrain himself, but it’s hard to kick a nicotine addiction with Lip Gallagher blowing smoke in your face every chance he gets. 

“Wouldn’t know,” Mickey shrugs, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, toying with the pack of smokes, just reminding himself that it exists. “Don’t spend a lotta time at kid’s birthday parties.”

Lip breezes past the obvious jokes. “Other than the shit with bouncy castle, I’d say it all went off without a hitch.”

Mickey nods, but his mind is elsewhere, still trying to come to terms with the whirlwind of things that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. 

“Looks like things worked out for you today too.” Lip says, breaking the ensuing silence. Usually, Mickey would be skeptical about such a statement- he and Lip liked to get a rise out of one another whenever they could- but Lip’s been going easy on him all day, and Mickey thinks this isn’t any different. Ian’s seen him through a lot of shit over the years, but Lip’s been there too, nearly as often. Despite how much of a prick he’s been in the past, Mickey figures his brother in law is mellowing with age. 

Maybe they all are. 

“Looks like it,” Mickey agrees, and he leans forward against the railing and thumbs nervously at his nose. “Might need a fuckin’ Ativan and a ten hour nap, but I did it.”

“Yeah well… you and I both know second chances are stupidly hard to come by.” Lip lets a cloud of smoke pour out of his nostrils, looking for all the world like a dragon from some kind of fantasy novel, spouting the wisdom of the ages. “And for a reason I’ve never been able to figure out, both of us keep gettin’ ‘em over and over. Like you’ve gotta think at some point- one of these times I’m gonna fuck up and I’m not gonna bounce back, right?” 

Lip makes eye contact with him by accident, and he and Mickey both look away quickly. It’s one thing to be talking about all this pussy shit with your brother in law- feelings, fuck ups, second chances- but it’s impossible to look him in the eye while doing it. 

“I’ve got no more second chances left, man.” Mickey says sombrely. “I’m fresh out of fuck ups. That’s why I gotta be careful. Gotta do this shit the right way around this time.”

“And by ‘this shit’ you mean…?” 

Mickey nods towards his husband, who’s patiently picking up individual pieces of candy from under the busted piñata, which is still somehow dangling by a thread from the tree branch. 

“ _ That _ shit. Bein’ married. Bein’ a family.” Mickey can’t believe he’s playing so fast and loose with his feelings in front of Lip, but it’s been an overwhelming day, and he’s left feeling like anything is possible. Even being completely candid with Lip Gallagher. 

“And your kid?” Lip hums, dropping the butt of his cigarette into the make shift ashtray- a rusted out old paint can- near his feet. “You’re ready for him to be a part of it?”

The question reminds Mickey a little too much of the conversation he’d had with Svetlana only hours earlier, and he has to swallow down the anger that it ignites in him because he’s pretty sure Lip doesn’t mean it as an insult. 

“Hey, I know I didn’t go lookin’ for him back in the day- but it’s not because I never fuckin’ cared.” Mickey snaps defensively. 

“Did I fuckin’ say that?” Lip shoots back and Mickey realizes that he  _ didn’t _ , actually. “All I’m sayin is, just make sure you’re ready.”

“I’m ready.” Mickey responds adamantly. “I’m not gonna be another Milkovich who fucks up their kids for fun.” He only says this because he knows Lip gets it, at least he should based off of what he’d witnessed- what he’s lived through himself. 

Lip nods and stares into the middle distance. Just as Mickey’s starting to think he might actually stop talking for once, he inhales like he’s getting ready to speak. 

“You know what I realized when Freddie popped out?” He asks, and Mickey doesn’t respond because he knows that whatever he says, Lip’s gonna tell him anyway. “I realized that Frank’s an even bigger piece of shit than I thought.” 

This statement makes Mickey laugh a little, because it’s a lot less profound than he thought it would be. “I coulda told you that,” He snorts.

“I’m not finished, alright, just shut up and listen.” Lip chuckles a bit too, because it does sound ridiculously obvious after all these years. “So Freddie popped out, Tami was all torn up, and there I was with a newborn and no idea how to take care of him. So far up shit’s creek that a paddle wouldn’ta helped me anyway.”

Mickey furrows his eyebrows until they almost meet in the middle. He’s not sure where Lip’s going with this, but he keeps talking before Mickey can ask. 

“I wanted to drink every second of every day. But I didn’t. Because when I looked at that kid, I just  _ knew _ I couldn’t do it to him.” Lip pauses, and clears his throat. “It just sorta hit me. It’s a  _ choice _ . I wake up everyday and make a choice to not pull a Frank. And if I fall off the wagon, I get the fuck back on- every time.” Lip turns to look at him then, and Mickey knows he’s dead serious. “I’m not Frank. You’re not Terry. You never were, and you never have to be. You’re not destined to be a piece of shit just because your dad is.”

Mickey knows Lip is right. He’d been trying to tell himself that very thing for years, since getting out of prison, since marrying Ian, since getting his life on track. It was one thing to think it, but another to hear it echoed out loud, unprompted, by someone who didn’t really owe him the reassurance.

“Just give the kid what you never got. Fucking do it on  _ purpose _ .”

Mickey thinks it’s the smartest thing Lip has ever said. 

  
  


That night, Mickey’s stepping out of the shower and wrapping a towel around his waist to make the journey back to the bedroom when Ian raps his knuckles against the door, and cracks it open just enough to dangle Debbie’s car keys in the opening. 

They borrow her car sometimes, even though neither of them have anywhere to be- they get to use up her gas in exchange for free child care, and Debbie mostly keeps her mouth shut about it. After the day Mickey’s had, Ian thinks that maybe taking a drive around the block with the windows down and the music loud enough to cause a brain bleed might be just what his husband needs. 

They haven’t talked about it yet- all the things married people discuss when a paradigm shift occurs in their little universe. All Ian’s done is stare at Mickey with a cloudy, enamoured expression and think about how  _ worth it  _ the months of stress are turning out to be. 

Mickey lets himself have one last cigarette to end the day, leaning halfway out of the window of Debbie’s car just so the smoke doesn’t linger. Ian laughs himself into a coughing fit when Mickey pulls his head back inside of the car, his hair standing on end and his cheeks as red as tomatoes from the wind burn.

Ian puts on the same old CD they’ve listened to hundreds of times, the one they found in the miscellaneous bin at Goodwill, and they head-bang and scream along to  _ Metallica _ until their voices feel raw. When the first few chords of “ _ Hardwired _ ” rip through the distressed speaker system, and Mickey hears the lyrics of the chorus:

_ We're so fucked _

_ Shit outta luck _

_ Hardwired to self-destruct _

He finally knows he’s  _ not _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is well and truly the end my friends!
> 
> Thank you all once again for the support and the feedback <3 This was a joy to write (even though it took about ten times longer than I wanted it to)
> 
> Let me know what you think by leaving a comment or a kudos!  
> Until next time ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Kudo and comments are always appreciated! Let me know what you think! <3 Next chapter jumps around in the timeline a bit and we get to see how this all came about! Stay tuned!


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